


Blood and Choice

by Liaegypt



Series: Blood and Trust [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-13 05:10:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 57,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7963705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liaegypt/pseuds/Liaegypt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Blood and Trust. Raema faces new challenges to her loyalty, as Juraene clan re-establishes itself as the only vampire clan on Vvardenfell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

****Dawn was dangerously close, but Irarak's steps slowed as he neared his lair. _Something is wrong,_ he thought, risking a moment to stop while the sun continued its climb. He glanced around, eying the surrounding rocks. It was quiet, as it usually was; few creatures chose to call Molag Amur's harsh landscape home. He took a few more steps toward the tomb entrance, reaching out with his senses. This close, he should have been able to sense his vampires within; they should have been bright, familiar blotches of Berne blood on his mind's eye.

 _Something_ was there, but it was only one, and it wasn't Berne.

He paused again, frowning, as worry began to tighten in his chest. Even if all of them had gone to hunt in the night, they should have returned by now. He had expected to be the last to return, not the first.

 _Turn back_ , his instincts warned him. _Get help, come back at sunset_. Irarak glanced back the way he had come, and grimaced. He'd chosen the Raviro tomb because it was close to Telasero, close to Assurjan's protection... but not _too_ close. Despite his friendship with the Juraene Ancient, having two vampire clans living this close to each other was already a recipe for trouble.

Now, sunlight was gleaming on the tips of the highest peaks. He would never make it back to the stronghold before full daylight. While he had stood there thinking, his headache had grown too severe to ignore; now it throbbed incessantly behind his eyes. Muttering a curse, he reached for the door of the tomb.

Inside, his lair was as blessedly cool and dark as always, but he found no comfort in it. As he stepped inside, he recognized at once what awaited him in the depths of the tomb, and the worry in his chest became a knot of cold fear.

“No,” he whispered, unwilling to believe what his senses were telling him. _Bloody Oblivion, why didn't I leave Telasero earlier? Or simply stay there for the day?_ Once more, he glanced behind him. Full day had broken over the rocky landscape, and light spilled through the open door dangerously close to his feet. The possibility of fleeing despite the sunlight ran through his mind. He had endured the sun's agony before... But no, he was not strong enough to withstand it the entire distance. It would burn him down to ashes before made it halfway back to Telasero. He was trapped.

Since he could not go back, he closed the door and forced leaden feet forward, down the stairs and through the first two rooms. They were empty of his people. Personal belongings were scattered about as if there had been a struggle. Some of the Raviro family's urns had been tipped, spilling ashes everywhere. _The Ancestor ghosts will be furious_ , he noted numbly, taking in the scene. A slave's drained corpse lay brokenly against one wall, and a pool of dark blood was drying on the dusty floor near the door. Dunmer blood, by the scent of it. From one of his. He bit back another curse and hesitated at the door to his private chamber, hand hovering over the door handle.

She was waiting for him when he entered, as he'd known she would be. On the raised dais, in the chair he had set there for himself, Volrina Quarra lounged crookedly, one leg dangling over the chair's arm. Torchlight glinted on her armor, and she held something in her lap that his eyes skipped over quickly, instincts warning him not to look too closely.

“Ah, there you are!” She exclaimed, for all the world like a long-lost friend. “I was beginning to fear you wouldn't return until tonight. Cutting it a bit close, aren't you?”

Irarak clenched his teeth against a furious retort. Whatever she wanted from him, he would do his people no good if he didn't play this carefully. _If they still live,_ he thought _._

“Where are my vampires?”

She made a sound of disapproval, shaking her head. “Irarak, I'm surprised at you. No respect, no proper welcome...”

He took a deep breath and fought back the sudden urge to charge at her. She would knock him aside as easily as an insect, and he would be no good to his vampires if he were dead. “ _My lady_ ,” he ground out, with an effort. “Where are my vampires?”

On the dais, Volrina Quarra smiled, ghostly white eyes gleaming. “Much better,” she purred. “They are safe, for now. Safely far away from here-- except this bit, of course.” She tossed him the object in her lap. Irarak made no move to catch it; it dropped at his feet, sending up a little cloud of dust. He didn't want to look at it, didn't want to recognize it... But he knew that slender hand, knew the ruby ring that graced one slim finger. He had given that ring to Tredere not three weeks ago. He tore his gaze away from the grisly sight, struggling not to think of the agony she must be suffering, wherever she was.

“What do you want,” he growled, waiting as long as he dared before adding, “...my lady?”

The Quarra Ancient shifted abruptly, sitting up in the chair and leaning forward. She peered at him past a fall of burgundy-red hair. “I want the same thing you do, Irarak,” she said, in a low, dangerous voice. “I want my people back. But _you_ are fortunate: you have a chance to earn your vampires' freedom... While I must settle only for revenge.”

“If you think I will betray Assurjan for them--”

“Oh, no,” she interrupted softly. She stood and approached him, slowly, and Irarak took a step back before he could help himself. “ _That_ is not why I took your young bloods. They were only to ensure your good behavior... and to prove a point.”  
She swept an arm to the side, gesturing around the tomb he had taken for his lair. “You see how easily I came into your home, Irarak, and took your vampires away from you. Believe me, if I could do such a thing to Assurjan, I would have done it long ago, and your little followers would still be here. But I cannot... why is that?”

Irarak eyed her warily, wondering where she was leading him. “He is an Ancient,” he said. “He has the strength to defend his clan, more than I.”

Volrina smiled slowly, fangs glinting in the torchlight. “What if I could give _you_ that power? The power to keep your people safe _yourself_ \-- no dependence on Assurjan or anyone else to keep your enemies away?”

“To make me an Ancient _,_ ” Irarak said flatly. “Forgive me if I seem skeptical, my lady.”

Her smile widened unnervingly, and she turned away. “You never heard how _I_ became an Ancient, did you?” She picked up a book he had left on a nearby table, flipped idly through its pages. “It was the blood of my clan's Elders that did it. I hunted them down and drained them dry, drank their strength one by one, until even our Ancient could not stand against me. It takes time, but...” she glanced at him over her shoulder. “It is quite effective.”

Irarak stared at her. She was lying, she _had_ to be-- why would she be willing to offer such a thing?

_...But what if she tells the truth?_

“You don't believe me,” she observed, dropping the book and coming back to him. “I suppose I'll have to prove it to you?” She began to unbuckle the glass bracer that covered her wrist.

 _It's a trap,_ he told himself. _Ancients do not offer themselves, do not offer their own blood to drink._ He watched her remove the bracer, his thoughts racing. Until he drank, he could deny the truth of her words. But if he _did_ drink, and discovered she was right, he knew with a sinking certainty that he would not be able to refuse her offer.

 _And if I_ don't _drink,_ he thought, _I will never know, and Tredere and the others will perish for my stubbornness._

Quarra held up a bare, pale wrist, and raised her eyebrows. With a snarl, Irarak clamped a hand around hers and drew it to his lips. Foolishly, he half expected the Ancient's skin to be tough, like an Aragonian's scales. But it was thin and fragile, like any other Nord's, and his fangs sank in easily, finding the vein between the tendons. Her blood was cold, the pulse sluggish, a far cry from the hot, throbbing blood of a living victim, but his initial distaste was forgotten when the power washed over him. It flared behind his eyelids in a blinding violet light, as if it illuminated him from the inside out. And with it came a rush of strength like he had never experienced before. Gods, he could destroy her right now, it would be so easy to just--

The flow of power was ripped away, and he staggered at the loss, blinking away the last of the blinding light. His newfound strength faded away... but not completely. A fraction remained, leaving him a touch faster, stronger. Gods, if just a short feeding could raise his threshold so, how much power would a longer feeding grant him?

Quarra was watching him as she buckled her bracer back in place, heedless of the blood that still oozed from her wrist. “Just a taste,” she said quietly. “You see what I offer you?”

Irarak swallowed hard, trying to regain his focus after the too-brief feeding. “You... You have revealed a secret, but you are not the only Ancient who could--”

She laughed harshly. “Yes, yes, Assurjan _could_. But _would_ he? He believes he is the only Ancient left on Vvardenfell. Do you think he will share that power willingly, even with you?” She reached up as if to touch his face, and he flinched away. “Go to him, dear Irarak, and not only will he refuse you... but you will be condemning your followers to death.”

Her words shot a bit of clarity into his thoughts, though it was not the sort he wanted. He knew there was only one person with whom Assurjan might be willing to share his strength, and it was not Irarak. Old friends or not, the Juraene Ancient would not welcome Irarak's ascent to power.

“And what of you, my lady?” He asked. “If I agree, and Assurjan falls, that would still leave two Ancients. Are _you_ willing to share?”

Volrina Quarra's smile vanished. “Assurjan has destroyed my clan,” she reminded him coldly. “I care for nothing but his own destruction. When that is accomplished... Well. We must skin one guar at a time.” She stepped closer, milky-white eyes intent on his own. “Right now, this is your choice, Irarak: You can let your vampires die, and live with the guilt until I destroy Juraene clan and you with it... Or you can save the people who look to you for protection, and _keep_ them safe.”

He knew, even before she finished, what his decision would be. How could he choose anything else? But he looked away, forcing himself to examine his options. _I owe him that much, at least,_ he thought sadly.

The moment's deliberation showed him nothing new, no alternate option. With a heavy weight settling into his chest, Irarak raised his head and met her gaze.

“What must I do, my lady?”

Quarra smiled again. “You would have made such a better Ancient than that s'wit Raxle,” she murmured. “His vampires were no more important to him than the cattle... It is no wonder you left him.” She turned away, dropping into a nearby chair at the foot of the dais. “I'll be sure to impress that upon your people when I return. Unfortunately, you and I are trapped here for the day... So to pass the time, why don't you tell me about Juraene clan?”

Irarak let out a long breath. “What do you want to know, my lady?”

“Everything,” she smiled. “And I want you to be thorough-- we have all day, after all.” She waved a hand at his own chair on the dais. “Perhaps you would like to make yourself comfortable... _my lord._ ”

Irarak forced heavy feet to climb the steps, turned and sat. Quarra gazed up at him with a smug, knowing smile, waiting patiently for him to speak.

It went on for a long time. Irarak talked himself hoarse, relating all he knew of Assurjan, of Raema, of Juraene clan and its members, their alliances and activities. Quarra asked questions frequently, sometimes making him explain things three or four separate times. Some answers he was unable to give, like why Assurjan's relationship with his Hand had suddenly become so strained, or what was the purpose for the clan's alliance with House Hlaalu. As his distant awareness of daylight finally began to fade, the questions tapered off at last.

“I will contact you again,” the Ancient informed him with a pleasant smile as she made ready to leave. “Remember who is depending on your cooperation, Irarak.”

Irarak swallowed harshly, imagining Tredere and the others trapped somewhere at the mercy of the Quarra Ancient. _Gods help me, if you destroy them, I'll_... But it was an empty threat, and he did not voice it.

“I will remember, my lady,” he said.

“Good,” she said with a cruel smile as she left the room. Irarak watched her go, and kept her presence in his mind's eye when she left the tomb. He mentally followed her path southwest until she passed the limits of his awareness. Only then did he allow the guilt and worry for his vampires to spill over him. He collapsed back into his chair, burying his head in his hands.

_Forgive me, old friend..._

 


	2. Chapter 2

“I don't like this,” Dram Bero muttered, scanning the room warily. “Tell me again, _why_ are we here?”

Crassius smiled slightly. “Because I asked it of you, and I am the head Councilman, of course.”

"And because we have no choice, since you entered into this agreement without consulting any of us first.”

Crassius Curio returned Dram's level look with his typical nonchalance. “You don't trust me to do what's best for the House, Dram?”

“I trust that you are doing what you _think_ is best,” the Dunmer replied. “But I also think your actions regarding these vampires have called your judgment into question.”

Crassius laughed, though there was a level of tension beneath it. It did nothing to soothe Dram's nerves. “Stay after the meeting, Dram, so that I can convince you. There is some more information I want to share with you, only you, and I would like your opinion.”

Dram glanced across the room at Nevena Ules, and smiled inwardly. Curio knew exactly the best way to manipulate him... but that was nothing new. Nearly all House Hlaalu knew Dram would jump at the chance to gain any advantage over his lady rival.

“And there is another thing,” Crassius added, rubbing his hands together. “You know how I like to have... friends... in as many places as possible.”

Dram snorted. It was standard procedure in House Hlaalu to have a network of informants and spies ensconced within rival and enemy groups... but even among the Councilors, Crassius was notorious for such things. “Yes. And you wish to expand into the vampires, is that it? I don't imagine you'll be able to find anyone willing to infiltrate _that_ group, my friend.”

“Certainly not,” the head Councilor agreed. “But the clan of Juraene does not consist only of vampires. The Ancient has an... assistant, a Bosmer woman. She-- well, she was mortal for quite a long time during my dealings with the clan. The last time I saw her, she had been turned, but she assured me it was only a temporary condition.”

 _Interesting,_ Dram thought. “You want to bring her to us? Or have you already?”

Crassius grimaced. “Our interactions have been... less than satisfactory. I think she holds me too much in contempt to consider my suggestions. But she is a slave to the Ancient; she told me so herself. The promise of freedom-- from someone who makes a better impression on her than I have-- might be enough to persuade her to help us.”

“Freedom, eh?” Dram raised an eyebrow. “I doubt that will be within our power to grant her, but I will try. What are you planning, Crassius?”

The other man smiled secretively, and began to reply, but a sudden knock at the door cut through the low murmur of conversation. The room fell into a nervous silence. All heads turned toward the door, then swung to look at Crassius, the only one of them who had any sort of experience with their new allies. He, in turn, gestured impatiently to Yngling Half-Troll. The big Councilor swallowed nervously, and went to open the door. They had all agreed hours ago that they would do without any servants-- too many prying eyes and ears to observe who was visiting Balmora that night.

Standing in the doorway, Yngling exchanged quiet words with the guests. In the midnight darkness outside, Dram could see nothing but the outline of a dark hood and cloak. Around the edges of the room, the uneasy silence grew heavier.

Yngling stepped aside, opening the door wider and managing to half-hide himself behind it. “The-- the Ancient of Juraene clan, Assurjan Juraene,” he announced in a shaky voice, “--and the Hand of the Ancient, Raema of Juraene.”

A slight figure stepped through the doorway, pulling back her hood to reveal a pale, delicate Bosmer face. Dram's eyes narrowed, gauging this so-called Hand of the Ancient. He made a habit of hiring capable bodyguards, and this Raema was certainly someone he would not turn away. Delicate appearance not withstanding, the woman moved with an easy grace that spoke of a readiness to use the sword strapped across her back, and to use it well. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face in a simple queue at the nape of her neck, and Dram noted that her right hand was mottled with a strange pattern of pink, healing skin. The Bosmer's dark eyes swept over the room's occupants, searching for threats like any good bodyguard should. Dram gave a respectful nod when her wary gaze settled on him.

Raema stepped aside, and a second figure entered the manor, one tall enough that he had to dip his head slightly to do so. He was shrouded entirely in black; for an instant, Dram had the unsettling sense that the darkness of the night itself was spilling physically into the room. Gloved hands reached up to pull back the cloak's hood, and Dram had to make an effort not to reach for the knife at his belt. The vampire was a Dunmer, but eyes that should have been a deep scarlet were instead pale, milky white, like a long-dead corpse's. His head was bare-skinned, but for a topknot of black hair that fell in a whip-like braid from the crown of his skull. He bore no weapons that Dram could see, but even if he had no blades hidden beneath that cloak, Dram had no intention of picking a fight with him. According to Crassius, the vampire was a powerful mage; reports from the Imperial Legion hinted that an entire unit of soldiers had been burned alive by his sorcery.

After a heartbeat's hesitation, Crassius Curio stepped forward, making a smooth, sweeping bow.

“My lord Ancient, it is a great honor to meet with you face-to-face at last,” he said. “I bid you welcome to Balmora, and to House Hlaalu. And my lady Raema, how good to see you again. I am very glad to see that you are... feeling better.”

The Hand blinked at him, then gave him a cool smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Crassius swallowed hesitantly, adding, “Is there... anything we may provide? A drink for you and the Hand, my lord, or...”

 _Or blood,_ Dram finished silently. There had been a fierce debate over this an hour earlier, for no one knew the proper etiquette for such a situation. Would it be an insult _not_ to offer? Surely the Ancient would not ask such a thing of them... would he?

To everyone's relief, Assurjan demurred at once, acknowledging Crassius' offer with a shake of his head. “You are too kind, Councilor,” he said. Though he spoke quietly, his deep voice carried easily through the room. “But we must be gone before sunrise, and so my time is limited. Shall we begin?”

“Of course,” Crassius said, not quite able to hide his relief. “Let us sit down.” Dram felt some of his own tension dissipate.... Not all of it, though. 

 _Seems pleasant enough,_ Dram thought, as they made their way toward the long table in the center of the room. _But I'll bloody well wait until full daylight to leave Balmora, all the same._ The possibility of encountering the vampire as he walked the roads in the dark made him shiver.

Crassius would be at the head of the table, of course. Dram took the chair to Crassius' immediate right, and Nevena pointedly took the seat across from him. Her ally Velanda sat beside her. Assurjan took the chair at the other end of the table, across from Crassius. Though there were two open chairs, Raema remained standing, just behind the Ancient's right shoulder. Dram caught sight of a brief grimace on Yngling Half-Troll's face as he was left with no choice but a chair next to Assurjan. He took it without hesitating, though, knowing none of them could afford to show any fear.

Crassius took his own seat, and began making introductions. Dram listened to the pleasantries with only half an ear, eying their guests and his fellow Hlaalu, instead. Yngling, he noted with amusement, was so obviously _not_ looking at the vampire seated next to him that it was clear his attention was focused nowhere else.

Though he had been most worried about the vampire, it was the Hand that Dram found himself watching, intrigued. Raema kept her attention firmly on the discussion, allowing him to study her. The Bosmer's eyes were naturally dark, but there were shadows behind them that spoke of a different sort of darkness. Dram had seen that look before, in old fighters who'd seen so much death and violence in their lifetimes that it seemed to settle visibly within them. Raema looked far too young to have built up that much experience, but he supposed working for a vampire was hardly an easy job.

Something the Ancient said caught his interest, cutting into his musings over the Wood Elf. “...build something _new_ ,” Assurjan was saying, in a quiet voice that nonetheless demanded the attention of everyone in the room. “Coexistence.”

Silence fell as the Hlaalu leaders glanced at each other. Velanda Omani spoke first, a trace of nervous laughter in her voice. “Forgive me if I seem dubious, Ancient... But I find it difficult to believe that the mortal population can offer anything to make such an arrangement worthwhile for your vampires.”

 _Because you're not a predator,_ Dram thought, and was gratified to hear the vampire confirm his thoughts. Assurjan folded gloved fingers on the tabletop. “On the contrary, Councilor,” he murmured. “Mortals can, and do, provide _everything_ we require. I offer you the chance to benefit from it.”

Dram raised his brows, surprised that the Ancient would be so direct. When the implications of his words sank in, several Councilors burst out in protest, but Yngling's voice was loudest. “Surely you don't expect us to agree to-- to what? To send our own people to be slaughtered at your hands?”

The Ancient raised an eyebrow at him, then swept the rest of the room's occupants with that disconcerting stare. “Have you no enemies?” He asked, and paused to let that be absorbed. “No criminals deserving of punishment? No one you would like to see... disappear?”

Dram took a sip of his schein, thoughts racing. Anyone at all that they wished to be rid of... send them to the vampires, and they would never be heard from again. _Dangerous, but bold. The sort of move that Hlaalu_ must _make if we are to advance ourselves._

Across the table, Nevena Ules' eyes narrowed. “An arrangement that benefits both sides, and yet it cannot be the only reason you are here. I assume you offer to limit your clan's hunting if we agree to provide food; but why would you do such a thing if there were no other benefits for you? What else do you want in return?”

“Tolerance,” the vampire replied simply. “Non-aggression. See that we are left undisturbed by vampire hunters, the Temple, and the like. Provide us with... sustenance... of your own choosing, and we will have no need to take it for ourselves. House Hlaalu will be protected, allowed to travel without fear of Juraene clan.”

“Food of our own choosing, you say,” Dram noted. “Meaning, I suppose, that alternatively you'll take who you will, no matter if they are members of Hlaalu or not?”

“I do not threaten,” Assurjan said mildly. “I do not wish to force House Hlaalu into an agreement; there will be no retaliation if you refuse my offer. Neither will there be any special protection for your people. My clan is growing, and in need of nourishment. Without a pledge of protection from House Hlaalu, I see no need to restrict my people's hunting.”

“Trade rights, my lord Ancient,” Crassius said suddenly, and all eyes in the room shifted to him. “If we are indeed to be allowed to travel in safety, it will open new areas for trade, will it not?”

The vampire inclined his head. “Juraene clan controls the wilderness of the Molag Amur region,” he said. “From Bal Ur to Azura's Coast, from Telasero to the Grazelands-- an area that was previously under the control of Berne clan. With safe passage granted _exclusively_ to House Hlaalu, you will have new ways of overland travel to Telvanni regions, faster than boats and not subject to the taxes of the Telvanni seaports or the Mages' Guild.”

The councilors glanced at each other. Dram could almost hear the calculations beginning in their heads. Crassius, of course, had been trying for months to upset House Telvanni's trade monopoly in the northeast.

“And this Berne clan?” Nevena asked. “Suppose they take exception to our agreement?”

The corner of the vampire's mouth turned upwards, just a bit. “Their Ancient is dead, their few surviving vampires scattered and vulnerable, just as the other two clans. Juraene is the only vampire clan that remains whole, and in power. In time, there will be no vampires on Vvardenfell save those who are under my command.”

More silent glances, as the councilors weighed this information. Crassius' eyes narrowed at the Ancient's claim, and Dram filed that detail away to wonder about later.

“What happened to the others?” Dram asked.

Assurjan fixed him with a pale-eyed, inscrutable look. “A complicated tale,” he murmured. “Suffice to say that I have little patience for treachery.” In the silence that followed the veiled warning, Assurjan spread his hands, giving a smile that, Dram noted, did not reveal any fangs. “It is a beginning, Councilors,” he said. “Consider for as long as you like. I have some hours yet before we must depart.”

From there, the meeting shifted into a negotiation of sorts, terms offered and rejected and discussed, while Crassius wrote down the occasional agreements on a sheet of parchment. It went on for a long time, until finally the vampire got to his feet, remarking that he must depart in order to reach shelter by dawn. The Hlaalu members also rose, determined to extend every outward courtesy no matter how inwardly reluctant they might be.

Yngling took the opportunity to go and fetch their visitors' cloaks. That left Velanda and Nevena standing closest to the Ancient; they gamely forced themselves into the sort of light conversation that any normal acquaintances might have, discussing the weather and other inanities. Crassius met Dram's eye, then shot a significant glance towards Raema.

“I hope you have a pleasant journey home, sera,” Dram said, moving closer to the Bosmer woman. She eyed him flatly, as if gauging his sincerity. He went on, “The weather on the Bitter Coast can be unpredictable, this time of year.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, still eying him. It wasn't distrust, not quite, but she was definitely wary. “I'm sure we shall be fine, Councilor... Bero, wasn't it?”

He smiled and bowed, thinking better of embellishing the movement. She struck him as the sort that would not be easily impressed by showiness. “Yes, but I'd be honored if you addressed me as Dram. I imagine we shall be working closely together in the future. If I may ask, sera... how did you find yourself in the employ of the Ancient? It is hardly a... commonplace position.”

“No,” she said, smiling slightly, though that wariness in her eyes deepened. “I am...” she glanced at the Ancient, still engaged in conversation with the two Dunmer women. “In truth, I am a slave. One with a great deal more freedom than most, but a slave nonetheless.”

 _And not happy about it,_ Dram guessed, if that glance at the vampire was any indication. “Ah,” he breathed softly. “And there would be consequences for taking that freedom too far?”

Her eyes softened, not quite looking at anything, as if she were remembering something. Whatever it was, it made her shiver just a little. “Yes,” she said simply.

Dram very carefully did not look in Crassius' direction. The Head Councilman was right... and if he were cautious, it might be possible to plant a seed here. He wished he knew more of what Crassius was planning. “So it would seem,” he said softly, “that your best chance of freedom would be Juraene's downfall.”

Raema's gaze sharpened on him, shrewd and intent, back from wherever her thoughts had gone. At the severity in that gaze he nearly flinched, afraid that he had made a grave error. “I am only thinking aloud,” he added placatingly. “This alliance is important to House Hlaalu. I am sure you can imagine, we want to know as much as possible about our new partners, and their motivations.”

“Some thoughts can be dangerous,” she said flatly, holding his gaze. “Slave or not, I am loyal to Juraene clan and the Ancient.”

“Of course,” Dram said smoothly, as Yngling finally returned with the Hand's cloak. “And I am glad that our ally has such an honorable individual at his side. I'm sure you are aware of House Hlaalu's reputation-- it's true that many of our members are loyal only to the highest bidder.” She fastened her cloak about her shoulders as he added carefully, “Such arrangements can be beneficial, though... especially when there are things more precious than gold to offer.”

Raema paused in the act of pulling up her hood to stare at him. He met the stare openly, knowing she understood, wondering what she would make of it.

Before she could respond, Crassius swooped in, looking as if he would put an arm about her shoulders, which was enough to make her move away, toward the door. A few more cordial pleasantries were exchanged, and then Raema slipped outside, checking for watchers before the vampire followed her.

The councilors breathed a collective sigh of relief when the door shut behind him. Nevena dropped back into her chair as if her legs were suddenly made of squib jelly.

Crassius Curio dabbed at his sweating forehead with a napkin from the table. “Well,” he said cheerily, “That wasn't so bad, now, was it?”

Yngling shot him a glare. “ _You_ didn't have to sit next to the n'wah,” he said sourly. “I could barely concentrate on the meeting, I was so busy waiting for him to reach over and snatch out my throat.”

“Nonsense, Half-Troll-- he was perfectly cordial with all of us. What do you think, Councilors?”

There was a long silence. “Can he be trusted?” Dram asked at length.

“I've worked with the Hand, Raema, for some time,” Crassius said. “She has given me no reason to distrust her, her master or Juraene clan. In fact, she's... disappointingly honorable. ”

Nevena gave an unladylike snort at his words, saving Dram the trouble of doing it himself. Easy enough to guess that Crassius had tried his charms on Raema, and been rebuffed. He felt his own respect for the Hand rise a bit more.

“Be that as it may,” Crassius continued, turning a brief glare on Nevena, “A vampire may perhaps be honorable, but he is still a vampire-- an undead monster who feeds on the living, and not someone the people of Vvardenfell are willing to tolerate.”

“Which makes it so _sensible_ that you have agreed to an alliance with them,” Velanda said dryly.

“Come now, my dear... We are House Hlaalu, are we not? We can find a profit in anything. Can no one see the way we might turn this to our advantage... _beyond_ the new trade routes?” Curio eyed each of them in turn.

They frowned at each other, and then Dram spoke quietly, making the connection before the others. “Juraene is the only clan remaining. If we were to play a part in their destruction...”

“--House Hlaalu's reputation would increase immeasurably,” Crassius finished. A thoughtful silence fell over the room.

“Dangerous,” Velanda said finally. “You heard what he said about treachery; he sent chills down my spine. If we try it and fail...”

“Leave that to me, my dear,” Crassius smiled. “But for now, shall we agree to bide our time? I, for one, am eager to take advantage of those new trade routes as soon as possible. And I know _I_ have a list of persons I wouldn't mind turning over to the vampires. Shall we go along, then, and learn what we might about their clan, their strengths and weaknesses? Gain a foothold in Telvanni territory? And later, if we decide to change our minds...”

The other councilors all murmured agreement; once again, Dram could almost see the thoughts racing behind each of their faces as they rose to adjourn. He made a show of taking his time, gathering his cloak and gloves slowly while the others left. After they had gone, Crassius beckoned Dram to take his seat at the table once again.

“So, this privileged information,” Dram said. “What exactly are you hiding from the rest of the councilors?”

Crassius poured a few glasses of schein and brought them to the table as he took his seat. “I must admit,” he began, “that the idea to rid Vvardenfell of vampires was not my own idea. I was approached by another, who has a great interest in seeing Juraene clan extinguished.”

“And who is that?”

“A vampire named Volrina Quarra, an Ancient that Assurjan thinks is dead.”

Dram nearly choked on his schein. “Are you mad, Crassius? What use is it to wipe out an entire vampire clan if we are only helping another into power?”

The other councilor held up his hands. “Now, now, don't rush to conclusions. She has given me her word--”

“The word of a vampire. Of course, I'm sure she's very trustworthy,” Dram snapped.

Crassius leaned forward over the table. “Hear me out, Dram. Assurjan destroyed her clan; she's left alone, and she is weaker than he is. There are vampire hunters on the island; it'll be easy enough to point them in her direction when we no longer need her. But before we do that, she is eager to help us eradicate Juraene clan... _and_ she has the aid of a vampire with access inside the clan, as well.”

Dram was silent for a long moment. “You _are_ mad,” he said at last. “But... it might work.”

With a smile of satisfaction, Crassius sat back in his chair and sipped at his mug of schein. Dram frowned into his mug, turning the idea over in his head.

“If we attempt this and fail, we make enemies of an entire clan. Your plan will have to be swift. They must all be taken down at once, so they have no time to _become_ enemies. And what of the other vampires the Ancient mentioned, the clanless ones? If we are to take credit for ridding Vvardenfell of vampires, we have more to consider than just Juraene clan.”

“That was part of the agreement, was it not?” Crassius reminded him. “Ensuring that the clan is left undisturbed? There are vampire hunters about. So we shall pay one of them to hunt the others down and leave Juraene alone.”

Dram blinked as the ramifications of that sank in. “Both fulfilling our promise and preparing to wipe them out all together,” he murmured thoughtfully. “I like the way you think.”

“Of course you do,” Crassius chuckled. “Would you like to take care of it?”

Dram leaned back in his chair, downing the last of his drink. “I know just the man.”

* * *

The night was cool, the air clear-- a welcome change after the stuffy atmosphere inside the Hlaalu Council manor. Stars still sparkled overhead, but they were fading into a pale glow in the east. They had made it out of Balmora without being seen, fortunately; the councilors had been very clear in their wish to keep the alliance secret. It wouldn't do to let themselves be caught in the town just after the meeting.

Raema cast a sideways glance at Assurjan, striding next to her; he was just barely visible as a flowing shadow in the darkness. The meeting had gone better than she'd anticipated. Of all the traits Assurjan bore, she'd never guessed that diplomacy was one of them.

He kept his eyes fixed on the path ahead as they walked, and Raema stifled a sigh. She had not traveled with him like this since the night he first brought her to Juraene clan's lair... but she had to imagine that if things were different, they might have spent the journey in easy conversation. Even _uneasy_ conversation would have been better than the stony silence that lay between them now. She had meant what she'd said to him, that morning after her cure, but she hadn't realized just how awkward things would become after she said it. She could find no trace of familiarity in his manner, any more... he treated her with a cool, business-like formality that belied everything that had happened between them.

 _That's what you wanted, isn't it?_ Asked a cynical voice in her head, and she scowled. She had wanted to protect herself, protect her trust from another betrayal...

But she hadn't wanted isolation. She hadn't wanted him to retreat so far from her that she could no longer reach him.

 _And what did you expect him to do?_ The voice replied. _You said you wanted nothing to do with him, after he only did what was necessary to save your life. Did you truly expect him to accept that and yet treat you no differently?_

Biting her lip, Raema shoved the voice away and forced herself to focus on watching for danger, refusing to think about it any longer.

Gray, pre-dawn light was just beginning to illuminate the path as they approached their shelter for the day-- the same cave that they had used on her first journey to Juraene clan. It had become one of several shelters that the clan maintained around the island, places where the vampires could safely wait out the day when they found themselves too far from the lair. Assurjan strode up the hill to the cavern entrance, slipping a key from his sleeve.

“There is still some time before full daylight,” he said quietly, glancing over his shoulder at her. In his voice, she could hear the faint, grating echoes that signaled a growing hunger. “Time enough for me to hunt. I shall return soon.”

Raema had wondered if this would happen; he hadn't fed since they left Telasero, two nights ago. She shook her head. “It is too near dawn, my lord,” she said, surprised at how steady her own voice sounded. “I... I am here, and you needn't endanger yourself to feed from me.”

Assurjan turned to face her, his eyes glimmering faintly, one eyebrow raised. Raema swallowed, hard. Being drained of her strength was not an experience she was eager to repeat.

“I will not ask this of you, Hand,” he said calmly. “I know you are not truly willing.”

She took a deep, shaky breath. “Better me, my lord, than any innocent traveler you will find to prey upon.”

“Do you think so?” Assurjan asked in a near-whisper. His eyes closed briefly; when he opened them, their hungry glow had become a blazing, ethereal fire. “Do not tempt me, Raema,” he hissed, in a voice fractured by need. “I thirst for blood tonight, not power... and not enough flows in your veins to sate me.”

The words were frightening, but it was not fear that made her heart start fluttering wildly. Under the hungry layers in his voice, she heard more feeling than he had directed towards her in weeks. _And he hasn't called me by my name in so long..._

He held her with his burning gaze for a long moment, and then he was gone, faded into the darkness as if he had never been there.

Muttering a curse, not sure who she was angry at, Raema shoved open the cavern's door and went in search of a light.

When she had found and lit the few candles they had left the day before, she sat cross-legged on her bedroll, unwilling to sleep until the Ancient had returned. _And he'd_ better _return,_ she thought crossly, telling herself she was _not_ worried for him. _I do not want to go looking for him if he doesn't return by sunrise._

Shaking her head ruefully at herself, she pulled her sword from its scabbard to tend it while she waited.

It wasn't long before she felt him returning to the cave. She could sense his presence now, if he were close enough-- a residual effect of her time as a vampire. He had been gone only a few minutes, it seemed. She wondered who he had found to feed himself in such a short time, then decided she didn't want to know. While he might be willing to leave his prey alive after he fed on their strength, she knew a blood feeding would leave nothing but an empty corpse behind. The thought didn't bother her as much as it once had, she realized with regret.

He moved through the cave with the animal grace that she knew so well, and settled down cross-legged across from her. Surprised, she set aside her sword and the stone she'd been sharpening it with.

“We have a lesson to continue,” Assurjan said.

Raema blinked. “Now?” She had hoped to have some time to spend outside, enjoying the sunlight while he sheltered inside the cave.

He raised an eyebrow. “We have more than nine hours before sunset,” he pointed out. “Did you plan to sleep the entire day?”

Raema huffed out a sharp breath. _If only I_ could _sleep,_ she thought. The lifting of her vampire curse had not yet eased the nightmares that plagued her sleep; they still were so bad that she'd begun to dread dozing off. Despite that, she wasn't sure that Assurjan's insistence on teaching her Destruction was preferable.

“No, my lord,” she murmured. “Where should I begin?”

“Fire,” he told her, like always. “The manifestation only.”

Resigned, Raema took a deep breath and turned her focus inward, drawing up the image she associated with the fire spell. Her lips and fingers moved, soundlessly giving shape to the words and signs of the spell. A spark of flame snapped into existence before her, then winked out just as suddenly, leaving a puff of smoke hanging in the air between her and Assurjan. She muttered a curse.

“Again,” the Ancient said calmly. Scowling, Raema tried again, with the same results. He had only begun teaching her a few weeks ago, but each lesson was more frustrating than the last. She had no talent for the Destruction school of magic, but, for some reason she was unable to fathom, Assurjan was determined that she should learn. She'd never been able to manifest the fire spell for longer than an instant. Assurjan was patient with her, never rebuking her for her failures, and that was just as frustrating-- Even her complete ineptitude for sorcery was not enough to break the carefully expressionless mask he wore now.

 _Still_ , she thought wryly, _he said my name earlier. That has to be a good sign._ A third failed flame left another plume of smoke between them.

Abruptly, Assurjan leaned forward to catch her hand in his, and Raema's heart lurched into her throat. His black leather glove was cool against her skin as he adjusted the positioning of her fingers slightly. Did he linger there longer than necessary, or was he only confirming the adjustment he'd made? He pulled back before she could decide.

“Again,” he repeated. Swallowing hard, Raema reached again for the mental image of the fire spell-- and found only a memory of that same hand, ungloved, sliding over her bare skin in an intimate caress.

 _Idiot,_ she snapped at herself, realizing that his waiting gaze was still on her. _You're acting like a lovesick child. Concentrate!_ With an effort, she pushed the memory away, and a fiery sphere flared into being before her, hovering there for a heartbeat before disappearing in a miniature explosion.

“Better,” Assurjan allowed, appearing unfazed by the small blast.

Gritting her teeth, Raema waved away the resulting smoke. “Again, my lord?”

The Ancient eyed her briefly, then shook his head. “Not yet. You are likely to kill us both with anything more than that, uncontrolled. Clear your thoughts before you try again.”

Raema let her hands drop to her lap, struggling to follow his advice. Her concentration had been elusive lately. If it wasn't the nightmares that disrupted it, it was thoughts of Assurjan... and things were no better now, not with him sitting an arm's length away. Silence fell in the cave, suddenly awkward, and she found herself casting about for something to say, something to fill that silence.

“Did you mean what you said to the Hlaalu, my lord?” she asked, the first question that came to her mind. “About coexisting with them?”

His brows twitched at the change in subject, but he answered easily enough. “I did. Juraene clan is still weak. We need allies, and both I and House Hlaalu have something to offer the other. It will be better to work with one ally in secret, rather than alone, when every other faction on Vvardenfell that opposes us.”

“If we succeed,” Raema said. She had to agree that the Ancient had a point, but she wasn't entirely certain that they would be able to maintain good relations with the House. Something would go wrong, she was sure. One of the vampires would kill an off-limits Hlaalu member, or...

“If we succeed,” Assurjan agreed. He fixed her with a calm stare, ending the discussion. “Now. Try again.”

Holding in a sigh, Raema raised her hands again. _Even the nightmares are starting to sound better than these interminable lessons_ , she thought, but she obeyed.

 


	3. Chapter 3

As always, Telasero's blocky silhouette reared up out of the night with startling suddenness, as soon as they passed through the rocky Molag Amur ground and into the open. Raema eyed the structure as they approached, surprised by the feeling of homecoming that stole over her. For better or worse, the ancient stronghold _was_ home, and she was not used to the feeling.

Musing over that, she mounted the steps at Assurjan's side, and they entered the fortress' single entrance. The long entry corridor was lit, as always, by the blood-red candles that the Sixth House cult had left behind. They threw wavering shadows against the walls to either side. Talintus was waiting at the end of the corridor, his steel armor glinting in the shaky light.

“My lord Ancient; Raema,” the old soldier greeted them gruffly, with a rough bow. “There are visitors. They arrived not a quarter of an hour ago.” He nodded over his shoulder, toward the vast, open space of the audience chamber at the far end of the corridor. “It's the Redguard hunter. And... he has Silweyn with him, my lord,” he added, with a swift glance in Raema's direction.

Raema felt her heart sink. A large part of her had hoped her old teacher had found a way to the mainland, out of Juraene clan's reach. She had no illusions that the Bosmer vampire was innocent, but she knew Silweyn had been acting out of desperation when she'd betrayed the Ancient.

It didn't excuse what she had done... But Raema was sure she did not want to witness whatever Assurjan would do to exact justice. A memory of Korren, shriveling and dying in a room full of watching vampires, forced its way into her mind. The Nord vampire had challenged the authority Raema was given over the clan, and Assurjan had executed him for it, drained him to his death without ever laying a hand on him. It was not a sight Raema was eager to see again.

Assurjan did not reply immediately, but she sensed a change in him; he shifted slightly at her side, and his expression hardened. Over Talintus' shoulder, Raema could see two figures standing on the raised dais in the center of the audience chamber. Below them, several vampires had gathered around the floor of the chamber, waiting with that eerie, undead stillness.

“Send for the others,” Assurjan said finally. “I would have them witness her return.”

“Aye, my lord,” Talintus said, striding away. The Ancient gestured to Raema, and she fell into step behind him. He strode through the audience chamber to the side passage that led deeper into Telasero. There, in the shadows, they waited.

“What are you going to do with her, my lord?” Raema asked quietly.

He did not look at her, staring into the chamber with a slight frown, deep in thought. “I intend to make an example of her,” he said, so softly that she could hardly hear him. It sent a chill down her spine, and she fell silent.

Soon, the other members of the clan began to arrive, murmuring greetings to the Ancient as they passed him, filing through the archway. As the last of them appeared with Talintus, Assurjan gestured for Raema to follow him. Steeling herself against what was to come, trying to push memories of Korren from her mind, she followed the Ancient up to the dais that overlooked the room.

He climbed the stairs at a measured pace, and the crowd below fell still, silent as death, as he stepped into view. Raema stayed in the shadows, one step behind the Ancient's right shoulder, and folded her hands behind her back.

On the platform below, Talintus strode up to take a place next to the shadowy figure that had to be Silweyn. Jole bowed when he caught sight of the Ancient. “Good evening, my lord Ancient,” he called, his voice carrying clearly through the chamber. “As you can see, I've brought one of your fugitives.” He grasped Silweyn's elbow and urged her forward.

The vampire took a limping step forward into the light, and Raema bit back a startled curse. Silweyn had evidently not fared well since fleeing Telasero. Her fair hair hung in tangles about her face; her skin and ragged clothing were soiled by dirt, grime, and what looked like dried blood. She was frail, as if she had not been feeding enough, and she looked up at the dais with eyes that appeared bruised and sunken, staring out with a dull glow of hunger. She looked away quickly when Raema met her gaze.

No one spoke. In the stillness, Raema had to fight the urge to hold her breath, the instinct to keep the sound of her breathing from destroying that perfect silence. Talintus gripped his sword hilt, tensing, as if he expected a command to slay Silweyn where she stood.

“You have my thanks, Ser Devan, and that of Juraene clan,” Assurjan said at last. “I believe I promised a payment of triple your customary fee. Is that not correct?”

Jole nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

“You shall have it.” Raema could see Silweyn cringe when the Ancient's gaze fell on her. “And you, Silweyn. You conspired with our enemies to destroy me, and the rest of Juraene clan. Do you deny it?”

The Bosmer kept her eyes downcast, answering in a dull voice. “No, my lord.”

“Tell me,” Assurjan continued, “what did Raxle Berne say to convince you?”

“He said...” Silweyn's voice trailed off, and Talintus prodded her roughly. “He said that the Hand was dead, and that you would lead the rest of us into death as well... but he only wanted you, not us. If we-- if we captured you, he would let us go.”

“And yet, here we are,” Assurjan replied, almost conversationally. “The Hand is alive, and Berne is not. You betrayed me, and yet here you are, _my_ captive.”

Silweyn looked up then, a flat, numb look in her eyes. “I made a gamble, my lord, and I lost. I know it.”

“This is not a game,” Assurjan said softly, his voice gone low and dangerous. “And the lives of my people are not to be gambled with.” He took a step closer to the edge of the dais, addressing the gathered clan members. “This vampire conspired to destroy all of us. It is only fitting, then, that the entire clan be permitted to punish her. Talintus...”

The Imperial raised his chin. “Yes, my lord?”

“Leave her restrained and put her with the cattle. She shall be available to any who hunger for Bosmer blood.”

 _Oh, gods..._ Raema shuddered, glad that she was still half-hidden in the shadows, where none could see her expression. Silweyn blanched at Assurjan's words, and even Jole looked a bit disturbed at the pronouncement.

“As you wish, my lord,” Talintus said with a bow, and took Silweyn's arm. The Bosmer hobbled away, while the room remained silent, watching her go. In the dimness, Raema could see the hungriest pairs of eyes beginning to glow as they tracked her progress through the room. Feeling sickened, she pulled her gaze away.

When Silweyn was out of sight, Assurjan addressed Jole once more. “You have my gratitude, Ser Devan. The Hand shall see to your recompense.” Nodding to Raema, he turned and descended the stairs. Jole met her eyes from the platform, looking unusually serious. With a sigh, Raema turned away to go fetch his payment.

Her friend met her in the hall, and followed her into the antechamber that doubled as Assurjan's library. “Bloody Oblivion,” he muttered, by way of greeting. “I'd been expecting something more like a clean death for her.”

Raema only shook her head, still too shaken by Assurjan's decision to comment on it. She went to the small chest that rested on one shelf to get his payment. “I'm glad you came, anyway,” she told him, counting out the coins. “I was looking for you a few nights ago, but I suppose you were out...hunting.”

Jole gave her a sharp look; she could feel his eyes on her even without looking up from the chest. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong,” she said carefully. “Why?”

Jole didn't answer, and when she finally looked up, he was regarding her flatly, dark eyes knowing. “How is Assurjan?” He asked, after a moment.

Raema hesitated. “Fine. Busy. Some new spell or other that he's trying to develop.”

She got the sense that somehow, her answer told him more than what she had said. He took the handful of coins she held out, and did not count them, trusting her. “And you?”

“I'm fine.”

Jole tucked the coins away and looked at her sternly. “Guarscat,” he said firmly. “Don't lie to me, Raema, I know you too well. What has he done?”

“Nothing,” Raema insisted. _That's the problem._ “He's...I don't know. Distant. We worked well together, before... Before everything. Now, it's just... awkward.”

She could practically read the _I told you so_ in his expression. “Ridiculous, isn't it?” he said softly, bringing back another memory... a memory of him, eying her over a campfire in a cave on the edge of the Grazelands. _The most ridiculous thing I've seen you do. Vampires don't love, Raema._

“You're no help at all, you know that?” she asked crossly.

He shrugged. “At least I'm honest with you,” he pointed out. “Which is more than you can say for yourself.”

Unexpectedly, a lump filled her throat. Was he right after all? Was she deceiving herself, had she done so all this time?

 _I don't love him,_ she told herself once more, with an impatient shake of her head. “How is business?” she asked, to change the subject.

Jole rolled his eyes at her evasion, but mercifully he went along with it. “Very good,” he said with another grin. “Nearly more business than I know what to do with. The Ancients' deaths were one of the best things that could have happened. Now that they're gone, their remaining vampires are causing trouble much more openly... and everyone is willing to pay well to get rid of them. You should come with me, you know. I could always use some backup, and I trust you at my back more than anyone else.”

A flush of warmth filled her at his praise. And, she had to admit, some time away from Juraene clan-- and from Assurjan--sounded wonderful. “I would love to accept the offer,” she said. “But it's not my decision, you know that.”

He grew more serious then, and hesitated, looking at her for a long moment. “It could be yours,” he said quietly. “I kill vampires for a living, Raema. You know, _you_ are the only reason I haven't yet--”

“No!” She blurted, louder than she'd intended. “Bloody Oblivion, Jole...” A knot of cold fear tightened in her chest at his words... but there was the tiniest thrill, too. The thought of freedom, so long out of reach, undeniably made her heart skip a beat. “No,” she said again, softer, but just as firmly.

He shrugged, flashing his brilliant grin. “Alright,” he conceded easily. “But in that case, maybe I can ask permission to borrow you, sometime.”

Raema made herself smile back, trying to hide the emotions roiling in her head. “I'd like that... But we split the pay evenly.”

Jole made a pained sound in his throat. “Expensive s'wit,” he grumbled, making her smile turn genuine. “I'll see you again soon. Be safe, Raema.”

“You do the same,” she said, walking him to the door.

* * *

“Someone's been looking for you,” Raril grunted, setting down a glass of mazte.

Jole slid a gold coin across the counter and took the glass. "Looking for me, huh? Good or bad?” He asked cautiously, taking a long drought of the drink. Business had been good lately, with all the leader-less vampires to hunt down, but Favela Dralor's husband had been none too pleased when word of her affair with the hunter got out. Rumor had it (straight from Raril himself) that Lord Dralor was minded to send the Assassin's Guild after the Redguard who shared his wife's bed. In fact, Jole had been about to leave the city for a while; he'd heard reports of a vampire sighted near Ald-ruhn, and it might be a good idea to get away from the Lady Dralor for a time.

The Dunmer barkeep rolled his eyes. “The Morag Tong would be a little more subtle than that, don't you think?”

“I hope not,” Jole muttered. “Who was it, then?”

Raril tilted his head toward a table across the tavern, where a plain-looking Dark Elf sat with his back to the corner, watching the entire room. His gaze was already on Jole when he turned to look, and the hunter blinked. The Dunmer's scarlet gaze was direct and appraising; the man knew who he was looking at. “He's with House Hlaalu, or so he said,” the tavern keeper said. "Not one I've seen around before."

“Huh.” Jole downed the rest of his glass and pushed away from the bar, making for the table. The Dunmer did not move, fixing an inscrutable stare on him as he approached.

Jole gave the man his best, most charming smile, the one reserved for potential clients and second only to the one for potential lady friends. “Jole Devan, at your service, ser,” he said, giving him a sweeping bow. “You were looking for me?”

The Elf inclined his head, gesturing at the chair across from him. “Dram Bero, of House Hlaalu,” he replied. Please, sit down.”

Jole blinked. He knew Bero by reputation only, the least-known and most mysterious Councilor of the House.

Ignoring the chair Bero had indicated, Jole took a seat beside the man instead, angling himself to watch the rest of the room. “Your pardon, ser,” he said, still smiling. “Life is dangerous enough without turning my back to a room when there might be a price on my head.”

“Of course,” Bero murmured, shifting slightly to face him. Was there a bit of approval in his voice? _Happy to see I'm smart enough to watch my own back, I suppose. So_ this _is the elusive Dram Bero? Why is he meeting me in a tavern, in plain sight?_

Bero's eyes did not settle, seeming to dart restlessly around the room, only occasionally glancing at Jole. There was no nervousness in it, though, only a calm alertness. “You have quite a reputation around the city. You're a vampire hunter, are you not?”

“Of sorts,” Jole said wryly. “Have a vampire problem?”

“Of sorts,” Bero echoed, a hint of humor in his tone. “What is your usual fee for a kill, Ser Devan?”

Jole named a sum, a little higher than usual, watching carefully. The Hlaalu didn't balk.

“And you will take any vampire for this fee?”

“Well. Some vampires require more work than others. Ancients, in particular, are tougher to take down,” he pointed out. “My fees would be considerably higher.” _Especially since my best friend works for the only one left on Vvardenfell._

“I see,” Bero murmured. “House Hlaalu will pay you triple that amount for every vampire you destroy, if you will leave Juraene clan undisturbed.”

Jole leaned back in his chair, more startled than he cared to admit. “Oh, really? And why would you offer such a thing, ser?”

The Dunmer smiled slightly. “We have our reasons. This is not an exclusive agreement. If another party hires you for a kill, we will still pay you the agreed amount, regardless of your other client's fee-- so long as you hunt no members of Juraene clan.”

Jole stared at him, thinking. As far as he knew, no one outside of the clan knew of his friendship with Raema, or his uneasy truce with Assurjan. It was almost too good to be true-- triple his fee, for something that he would have done regardless...

“Does this restriction apply to any vampires of Juraene blood, or only those who are current members of the clan? Because several of them have been cast out for betrayal, and I've already been offered a tripled fee for their capture.”

The Dunmer frowned. “Betrayal? How do you know that?”

“It's my job to know,” Jole said easily. “Keeps me alive. And I find it odd,” he added, “that someone would make such a specific request to spare so many vampires. What is House Hlaalu's interest in Juraene clan?”

Bero's face went carefully blank. “Perhaps it is best if you do not know.”

“Perhaps,” Jole murmured. _Though I doubt it._ “How long will this agreement last?”

“Until further notice,” Bero replied. “Or until you decide it is no longer worth it.”

Jole drummed his fingertips on the table, thinking. Though he already had as much as promised Raema and Assurjan that he would leave their vampires alone, House Hlaalu couldn't possibly know it. He had a reputation to uphold, and so he said, “Triple is enough, for now. But as soon as you change your mind, let me know. I don't like leaving unfinished business, and I don't want some Juraene vampire coming after me because I let it live too long.”

“Agreed,” Bero said, and Jole grinned.

“Excellent,” he said, waving at Raril to bring more drinks. “Shall we share a drink to seal the deal?”

“Another time, perhaps,” Bero said, sliding a pouch of coins across the table. “I assume this will be enough to cover your expenses for an immediate start?”

Jole hefted the pouch; it was full and heavy, perhaps two hundred fifty septims. “Indeed, ser.”

As Raril approached with two glasses of mazte in hand, Bero rose to his feet, giving him a little bow. “We'll be in touch,” he said. “Good hunting.” As he left the tavern, Raril set the two glasses down at Jole's elbow.

“Well?” The Dunmer tavern keeper asked. “Good or bad?”

Jole chuckled, the thought of triple income making him grin. “Good, my friend,” he said, reaching for a glass. “Very, very good.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

She slept on the little pallet she had set up outside his chamber, her dark hair in disarray, a tiny frown creasing her brow. Assurjan paused, looking down at her sadly. This was the only time he could look at her openly, it seemed, without seeing in her eyes the shadows of what lay ruined between them. Whatever once might have been was gone, and that knowledge ate at him, forced him to wonder if he had chosen wrongly.

 _She made her wishes clear_ , he told himself, as he had done innumerable times. _You saved her, and lost her, all at once._ But he knew, as he had always known, that he could not have chosen anything different. If he had allowed Berne to claim her, all would have been lost-- Raema, the clan, himself. He had chosen the better of two bad options, and yet it seemed he had still lost her, sacrificed their fledgling relationship for the good of his clan.

 _Let her go_ , whispered an inner voice. _She is not happy. You have already lost her; why do you cling to her so desperately? The more her forced servitude grates at her, the more bitter she will become. Let her go, while she can still have a measure of gratitude for it._

It made sense, he had to concede, as she shifted slightly in her sleep, her frown deepening. With the threat of the other clans removed, Juraene was in a much stronger position, now... Surely he could afford to do without her aid.

But the thought of losing her completely sent a chill through him. Back before the battle with Berne clan, his days had been fraught with the fear that she was dead, with the knowledge that he _didn't_ know where she was. He had no wish to endure that once again.

 _Do vampires love, Assurjan?_ Her voice asked softly in his memory.

At his feet, she shifted again, letting out a moan. “No...”

Assurjan winced. Though she never spoke of it, he knew she was still plagued by nightmares, like all vampires. But since she was no longer undead, she could not go without sleep in an attempt to avoid them. He well knew what horrific visions she saw in her dreams, and did not envy her. More than once, he had left his chambers to find her sitting upright on her bedroll, dark eyes haunted by the nightmares that had kept her awake.

 _She suffers_ , he thought to himself, as she twitched in her sleep, moaning again. _And she likely will continue to suffer, as long as she remains here. Let her go_.

He took a step forward, with the half-formed intention of kneeling at her side and waking her before the dream grew worse.

“Assurjan...” she breathed, still asleep, and he froze, staring at her. She tossed her head restlessly, hands twisting fistfuls of the blanket, and Assurjan stepped back. _She will not welcome my intrusion_ , he realized. When she was dreaming of _him, w_ hat use was it to wake her from one nightmare into another?

“I am sorry, Raema,” he said softly. She did not respond, and he turned away, walking silently back the way he had come. Anger flared unexpectedly, for he knew what must be done to ease her suffering, and he could not bring himself to do it. He felt the hunger stirring in him, reacting to the fury that was rising, channeling it. Fists clenched, he left his chambers and went in search of Talintus. He could not save Raema from the nightmare that was himself, but neither would he leave her to suffer it alone.

* * *

_Eyes glowed all around them, hungry eyes, and not all of them belonged to vampires. Some, she knew with a bone-deep certainty, were much worse. Assurjan bent over his worktable, engrossed in some spell, oblivious to the crowd of eyes that was slowly closing in, bringing the darkness closer with them._

_“No,” Raema whispered, drawing her sword. It was heavy, as if someone had replaced her lightweight silver blade with ebony. “Assurjan...”_

_He did not look up, only glanced from one book to another, as if he had not heard her. The darkness and the eyes continued to close in, and Raema glanced about wildly, knowing she could not defend Assurjan from all sides, if he would not help to defend himself. “Assurjan, please!”_

_He still did not respond, as if neither she nor the dangerous shadows around them truly existed. “Curse it,” she hissed, struggling to lift the ridiculously heavy sword._

_Behind her, a shadow flashed through the little circle of candlelight, and she whirled, catching only a glimpse from the corner of her eye. As she turned, another came from her other side, flickering in and out of visibility like a darting cliff racer. She was ready for the third one and swung wildly at it, the heavy sword slow in her arms. She missed completely, and threw all her strength behind a second swing at the next rushing shadow._

_To her surprise, the blade bit into the shadow as if the attacker were truly solid; she had expected them to be less substantial, like ghosts. But her triumph was short-lived as the darkness seemed to seize the sword, twisting it in her grip. Before she could wrest it free, the shadow had turned it and thrust it back at her, while she still clung desperately to the hilt._

_The blade slipped past her and sank hilt-deep into Assurjan's chest._

_Raema let out a cry, horrified, and let go, covering her mouth with her hands. “No!”_

_Blood began to ooze sluggishly from around the wound, soaking slowly through his shirt in a glistening stain. He did look up at her then, pale eyes unsurprised, only pained and sad. “Raema,” he said in a rough voice, while the shadows swirled around them. Raema could only stare in horrified shock as he slumped forward, no longer undead, but truly dead at her hands._

_“Raema...”_

“Raema!”

She jerked awake, heart pounding frantically. It took her a moment to recognize Talintus' voice.

“Gods,” she gasped out. “You... you startled me.”

The grizzled old Imperial vampire gave her a hard look, and she wondered how obvious her nightmare had been. “Sorry to wake you,” he said gruffly. “The Ancient sent for you. He wishes for you to meet him in the library.”  
“I'll be right there,” Raema managed, pushing herself upright. Talintus gave her a concerned look; she waved him away. “I'm fine,” she reassured him. “Go on.”

Talintus grunted wordlessly and turned to leave. Raema dropped her head into her hands and drew in a shuddering breath as the memory of the nightmare receded. _Gods help me, that was one of the worst ones yet,_ she thought. The memory of Assurjan's eyes, betrayed and hurt, above her own sword plunged deep into his chest... She swallowed hard, hoping that the image would fade from memory sooner rather than later. She thought back guiltily to Dram Bero's words in Balmora, to Jole's hinted offer. Had they triggered thoughts of betraying Assurjan, spurred that nightmare?

Grimacing, she rubbed at her eyes-- and realized she had been crying. No wonder Talintus hadn't believed she was all right. She dried her cheeks impatiently on her sleeve, picked up her sword and went to find Assurjan.

The library collection had not yet been restored to its former glory since they had taken Telasero for their own, but they had made progress. The antechamber to Assurjan's room now held a chair for the Ancient, and a few bookshelves, mostly full-- one of her recent assignments had been to help him rebuild his collection after their flight from the old lair. The Sixth House's scarlet candles had been replaced by hanging lanterns, filling the room with a brighter, more natural light.

Raema made her way to a bookshelf, running her fingertips over the leather spines. They were mostly sorcery books, research volumes that Assurjan consulted from time to time, but there were a few fictional stories as well, and they were always soothing, tales of adventure and love, where everything seemed to turn out for the best in the end--

“Raema.”

His voice made her jump; she hadn't heard the Ancient enter. Turning, her heart pounding, she saw him standing in the doorway, with one brow raised. “You are... well?” It came out rather stiffly, but at least he'd said her name again, rather than just addressing her as _Hand_. Raema frowned, wondering if _he_ had witnessed her nightmare, as well.

“Of course, my lord,” she said, wondering if he could sense the lie.

Assurjan only nodded once. “Bring a slave.”

She blinked. “Already?” _Surely he hasn't grown hungry enough so soon?_ She did not pay close attention to his hunger, though she generally had a good idea of when he would need to feed. She hadn't expected a request for the cattle for another day, at least. He could, and often did, go several days without feeding. _Unless he's overtaxed himself with this new spell,_ she thought, and admitted it was possible. Though always before he had allowed her to be present as he worked, lately he had taken to shutting her out. She had no idea of his current project, or how much it might be draining him.

He fixed her with a wordless stare, eying her with the unnerving stillness that she had never quite grown comfortable with.

“At once, my lord,” she said, holding back a sigh, and hurried away.

Most of the stronghold had been restored like the library, in the months that Juraene clan had occupied it; enough so that Raema could almost forget that it was inhabited by the undead. The vast entry hall used for an audience chamber, however, had been left as they'd found it. Assurjan had given no explanation, but Raema guessed it was done to intimidate the rare guests that the clan received. As she entered the enormous room, she was struck, as she always was, by how foreboding it seemed. The few blood-red candles, burning in scattered clusters, were not bright enough to light the entire chamber. A few pockets of dim, red light flickered at different levels, on the stairs and the raised platforms, but none shed enough illumination to reach the ceiling far overhead.

Hunching her shoulders against the vast, dark space above, Raema hurried to the chambers beneath the main entrance, where the cattle were kept. The cave had been dug into the ground long ago, likely in an attempt to expand the fortress, but the project had apparently been stopped when the diggers hit an underground lava flow. Some of the boiling rock still oozed into a pool at the back of the cavern, rendering it uncomfortably hot. She tried to see it as a kindness to the slaves, who often suffered chills after losing too much blood.

The slaves were huddled shapes in the dimness. There was one slim, light-haired elf in the back of the cave, chained to the wall; Raema caught a glimpse of Silweyn's eyes gleaming dully, before the vampire looked away.

 _Gods, I hate this,_ Raema thought, standing in the doorway and trying not to meet the slaves' dead eyes. They avoided hers, too, as they hunched themselves into the darkness, trying to escape her notice. They knew why she was there. _It can't be helped_ , she thought hollowly, pointing at one of the few who seemed the most alert. _He has to feed_. Unhappily, she led the Imperial man back to Assurjan's chambers.

At his muffled response to her knock, she ushered the slave through the door, where he dropped to his knees. The Ancient was at his desk, bent over an unrolled scroll. Without looking up, he raised a hand and beckoned. Reluctantly, Raema nudged the slave, and he went to Assurjan's side. Almost absentmindedly, Assurjan gripped the man's shoulder, a pale violet light glowing around his hand as he fed. The man wavered on his feet, and Raema grimaced sympathetically, hoping that Assurjan would restrain his feeding.

He did, letting the man go after a moment. The Imperial stepped away, shuddering and bent over, hands on his knees. Assurjan scribbled something on the scroll, still without looking up.

Raema moved to pull the man up and take him away, but paused when Assurjan held up a hand. “Wait.”

Frowning, Raema watched as Assurjan laid his hand on the slave a second time.

 _What is he doing?_ She wondered, watching as the Ancient's hand began to glow again with magicka. The Imperial slave trembled, head bowed; then his body jerked stiffly upright, and his eyes shot open wide in shock. Raema stared, her head roiling with awareness of the power that Assurjan was wielding. It was akin to the sense of his proximity that she had retained after her return to the living... as if the spell he was working, whatever it was, had increased it tenfold. He had cast magic near her before, but this had never happened. She didn't believe she'd _ever_ witnessed him display that much power _._

The Imperial's head suddenly snapped back, and the man let out a cry as the light from Assurjan's hand grew blindingly bright. Then the Imperial slumped bonelessly to the ground at Assurjan's feet as the light winked out.

Assurjan stood with head bowed, chest heaving. Vampires did not need to breathe; if the Ancient had reverted to the unnecessary habit of gasping for air, it was a sure sign of how far he had exerted himself. For a long moment, there was no sound in the room but the quiet rasping of his breath. Raema blinked repeatedly, trying to squint away the spots in her vision.

“Gods,” she finally managed to say, crossing the room and kneeling beside the fallen slave. She rolled the man over to reveal a face that was startlingly... _healthy_. Despite having fed the Ancient just moments before, the Imperial looked better than any of the slaves had ever looked-- except that he was dead. “What did you do to him, Assurjan?”

He crouched on the other side of the body, frowning slightly as he gazed down at the slave. “I have learned that this spell requires more work,” he answered shortly, sounding a bit disgusted.

Raema cursed, and the anger in her voice made him glance up at her. “You killed him for a _test_?” She demanded, incredulous.

He gazed back at her calmly. “Should I have waited until the heat of battle, when the lives of my clan would be at stake, to discover that it does not work? Or should I have tested it on a member of the clan, instead?”

“Bloody Oblivion,” she snapped. She jumped to her feet to put some distance between them before she did something foolish, like attempt to strike him. She would only anger him if she tried that; sometimes she forgot that she no longer had the same speed and strength she'd enjoyed as a vampire. “What are you trying to do?”

Assurjan ran his hands over the man's skin, examining the body. “Now that Berandise is gone, we are vulnerable without a healer in the clan,” he reminded her. “If a vampire is injured too severely to feed and heal itself, it will die. Nor do we have any spellcaster with Restoration skill enough to begin to learn healing.”

Raema frowned. “Including you,” she pointed out. “And I hardly think that Destruction will be a good starting point for...” He looked up at her wordlessly, and her voice trailed off as she remembered that he, like all vampires, had another power. She remembered the pale light that had glowed around the slave, and with a shock, realized exactly what he had attempted to do.

“Gods,” she murmured again, glancing down at the Imperial. “You were... _you_ were feeding _him_?”

He nodded once, rising to his feet. “It is easy for us to over-feed, to take more power than necessary. If I can channel the excess, give it to someone who needs it...As you can see, it will heal, but uncontrolled, it will kill.”

Raema shivered at the thought. _Reverse vampirism_ , she mused. _Gods help us._ She stared down at the fallen slave, and felt a wave of guilt crash over her. She had chosen him for this fate, unwitting or not. Vivec only knew how he had come to be one of Juraene clan's cattle, but no one deserved the end he'd just met.

“I'll... take care of this, if you're finished,” she said quietly, and Assurjan nodded before turning back to his desk to write a few notes. Grimly, Raema crouched and hooked her hands under the slave's arms, dragging him toward the door. As Assurjan's second-in-command, she could have directed some of the vampires to do it, but she made herself take the chore. _I brought him here, to his death. I'll see that he's taken care of, myself._

When she had disposed of the body, she returned to Assurjan's room. He was once again seated at his desk, writing on the scroll in his graceful, flowing hand; notes on the failed attempt at his new spell, no doubt. She clasped her hands behind her and waited, looking about the room.

The Ancient's chamber was large, rather too large for the few bits of furniture scattered about. His desk was to one side, half-hidden behind the four pillars that stood in the center of the room; a few more shelves lined the walls, holding books and other personal items. Against one wall was the bed that, Raema noted with a pang, had likely not been used since it was placed there. She could almost imagine she saw a layer of dust on its blankets. It had been intended for her to use, she knew. _For the two of us._

At length, he paused his work to look up at her. “Crassius Curio has sent word from Vivec; the House wants to know how far our reach extends into Telvanni territory. Go and speak with him, answer any questions he might have.”

“I will leave immediately,” Raema murmured, and as he turned back to his work, she added, “My lord...?”

Assurjan looked up, his quill pen stilling once more against the parchment.

“There has to be another way to gain a healer for the clan,” she said. “Surely someone here has studied alchemy, can make potions, or... there has to be _something_ better.”

He was silent for a moment before replying. “Something better than destroying our cattle in pursuit of a spell that will, in all likelihood, never work the way I wish it.”

Raema blinked. _He can read me too well_. “Well-- yes.”

“Do you think I did not consider it?” he said quietly. When she didn't answer, he added, "This spell is based on our own natural abilities. If I can perfect it, it can be taught to every member of the clan--"

“And if it doesn't work? If you kill all the clan's cattle and still can't make your bloody spell work, what then?” It came out angrily, but he didn't seem perturbed; he only quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Raema, if you have any other ideas, I would welcome them. But if you wish to discuss spellmaking instead of ethics, I suggest you attend to your own studies first,” he said mildly. Clearly dismissing her, he turned his attention back to his papers.

 _Stubborn, self-righteous n'wah!_ Raema thought, and let a few more choice insults run through her mind before making herself turn away. Gods, he was infuriating sometimes. She turned to the door, then back again, hesitating.

“Assurjan...”

Reaching to dip his pen in the inkwell, he paused and met her eyes silently, waiting.

“Please don't ask me to send any more slaves to their deaths,” she asked, in a near-whisper.

They watched each other for a long moment. Something softened in his expression, revealing a hint of their old familiarity-- was it apology, perhaps? He nodded, holding her gaze for a moment longer before turning back to his notes.

Biting her lip, Raema left the room to gather her weapons, wondering if things would ever return to the way they had been before. She had seen a brief glimmer of it in his eyes, a faint reflection of emotions long gone, but she held little hope that they would return. _If only I hadn't driven him quite so far away_ , she thought regretfully. _But what's done is done, and I can only hope to fix it in time. Maybe._

There was no use dwelling on it now, not when she had a job to do. Outside Assurjan's bedchamber, she buckled her sword into its place across her back, then pushed thoughts of the Ancient to the back of her mind. Tucking her throwing knife into the side of one boot, she headed toward the stronghold's exit.

* * *

He heard the door shut behind her, and the quill pen snapped in half, smearing his fingers with ink. Assurjan dropped the ruined instrument, staring at his stained skin. He should have known better than to send her to fetch the slave, or to let her watch. She had come to accept that his feedings were necessary, she had brought him cattle before... But he had always taken care to limit himself, to allow her to bring back a living slave afterward, not a dead one. Her dark eyes were shadowed by enough horrors already; he didn't want to add any more to them than he already had. But he had been so certain the spell would work...

Frowning at the piles of his notes that littered the desk, he wondered if Raema was right. The spell _should_ work, he knew... it was like an arithmetic sum with a crucial step missing. If he could only find it, the spell would be an immeasurable asset for the clan. To restore a person to health was no easy feat, but what was feeding by touch if not that very thing? It should be so simple to reverse it, to turn the spell's power around...

But if she was right, and he never found the answer... If it was impossible, and he continued to waste time, and power, and the clan's resources while searching for a spell that did not exist, could not be cast...

 _If I drive her farther away,_ he thought, unhappily. However strained as their relationship had become, he knew it could grow still worse if he was not careful. And perhaps she was right.

Right or not, he had been shut in his rooms too long working on it. He should go see the rest of the clan, see that all was well. Leaving his spellwork for another time, pushing worries for Raema to the back of his mind, he strode from his chamber.

 


	5. Chapter 5

The stars always surprised her, when she remembered to look up at them; they spilled across the sky behind the moons like a curtain of diamonds, a breathtaking beauty just overhead, too often taken for granted. Raema leaned back against the wall of the Propylon Chamber and watched, deep in thought, as the stars began to appear in the void left by sunset.

Movement flickered at the stronghold’s entrance: Talintus, and a few others of the clan, leaving to take advantage of the night to hunt. Her old weapons tutor raised a hand to her, and she waved back, as the group scattered into the shadows. She could _almost_ sense them, as if it were just a skill she'd forgotten when her vampirism was cured. Now, though, it took concentration to feel the barest brush on her senses. She _almost_ could see them, in her mind, moving farther from the stronghold; but she was not entirely certain that it wasn’t only her imagination.

 _No sense in waiting,_ she thought, finally. With a habitual check on her sword, and on the knife tucked into her boot, Raema strode across the stronghold. Around the base of the fortress, there remained no visible signs of the struggle that had taken place there weeks ago... But it still made her uncomfortable to walk there, especially after dark. She could imagine the ghosts of the vampires who had fallen there, still haunting the site. Telling herself not to worry so much, she peered into the darkness. She wished she had a few Night-eye potions with her. Traveling at night was a skill she had improved, but it was still hard on her eyes.

Not far from the stronghold, another presence brushed at her awareness. Moments later, a shadow unfolded itself beside the path, a crouched figure rising to a standing position. Raema tensed, reaching for her sword, before she recognized Irarak.

He smiled when he saw her, though the expression didn’t seem to reach his pale eyes.

“Good evening, Hand of the Ancient,” he greeted her, making the formal title sound almost teasing.

“Irarak,” she replied with a grin, more relieved than she wanted to admit. "You had me worried for a moment, hiding in the dark like that."

"My apologies," he said. "A necessary precaution. Where are you headed?"

"To Vivec," she said, gesturing ahead toward the city. "Running errands, as usual. And yourself?"

Irarak extended an arm in the same direction. "I will walk with you for a while, if you would like company."

"Of course," Raema agreed. She found herself smiling; she’d always liked Assurjan’s old friend.

They chatted amiably as they walked, gossiping about this and that. "How are your vampires?" Raema asked eventually. "I have not seen them around Telasero lately."

He was silent for a long moment before answering. Raema began to worry that she'd found a touchy subject. Irarak had only reluctantly turned his followers, and then lost several of them in the battle with the other clans. There were plenty of reasons why he might not want to talk about them.

“They will be... fine,” he said, finally. “They... were feeling crowded, being so close to Telasero and Assurjan’s clan. They have gone looking for a new lair. Something near the coast, I hope," he added lightly. "I am fond of the beach."

Raema skirted around a bubbling pool of muck. “We'll be sorry to see you go. You’ve been such a good ally to Juraene clan... you and Assurjan must be close.”

“Close as brothers, once,” Irarak said after a moment, a hint of sadness in his voice. “Things changed when... when we were both turned. And then, after I fled Berne clan, we had no opportunity to speak. Eventually, as the years passed, we nearly forgot about each other.”

Abruptly, the southern coastline appeared before them as they rounded a stone outcrop. The Ascadian Isles scattered ahead of them, just barely visible in the fast-darkening twilight. They turned west, and Raema was able to concentrate more on her thoughts than on the ground, now that the terrain was smoother.

“Why did you come to us?” she asked curiously. “Was it more to help Assurjan, or to hinder Berne?”

“A bit of both, I suppose,” the vampire replied wryly.

They were quiet for a few moments, as the deserted coastline gave way to the cultivated fields surrounding Suran. Silently, they moved south of the small town and hurried across the narrowest point of the channel that linked Lake Masobi to the sea. Putting the water behind them as they headed for Vivec’s city lights, Raema asked quietly, “What was he like? When he was alive, I mean?”

In the darkness, Irarak sounded amused. “Much the same as he is now, really. Proud, fierce. Ruthless, when he had to be. Responsible.”

That last description seemed incongruous, but Raema was struck by a sudden memory of Assurjan twice refusing the chance to be cured, because his vampires still needed his leadership. She smiled in the darkness, sadly, wishing she could have known the Ancient before he had been one.

“You’re good for him,” Irarak said suddenly.

Raema grimaced. “I might have been,” she said. “But...”

“He is lucky to have you. He needs...” Irarak paused, for long enough that she began to wonder if he’d forgotten she was there. “He needs someone he can trust, someone loyal, someone who won’t betray him. It’s good that you are there for him. He will realize it, sooner or later.”

“Maybe,” Raema said, unconvinced.

They made the rest of the journey in companionable silence, as the cluster of Vivec’s cantons, lit at each level by scattered torches, drew closer. Within sight of the Foreign Quarter bridge, Irarak stopped and pulled up the hood of his cloak to hide his face. "This is where we must part, my lady Hand," he said, in the same teasingly gallant voice as before. "I thank you for your companionship; it made the journey much shorter."

"My pleasure," Raema said, and meant it. "Where are you off to, now?"

The vampire smiled again. In the shadow of his hood, his fangs glinted briefly in the torchlight. "I am a vampire, Raema. Don't ask questions you don't wish to hear answered."

Raema shivered. Sometimes it was all too easy to forget that the vampires were, indeed, undead predators who thirsted for blood.

With a nod, Irarak turned away, and vanished into the night with the same ease that all the vampires seemed to share. For a moment, Raema stared at the place where he had been, straining to see or hear movement in the darkness. There was nothing but the faint lap of the waves against the shore, and the chirping of nighttime insects. Shaking her head ruefully, she resumed her trek into Vivec.

According to the messages House Hlaalu had sent, Dram Bero’s home was hidden in plain sight in the St. Olms plaza, in a manor that the commoners believed to be haunted. This late at night, the plaza was mostly empty, and her footsteps echoed loudly as she crossed the flagstones.

 _Too bloody loud,_ she thought, as the noise drew a look from an Ordinator across the Plaza. _Just keep going. Look uninteresting._

Fortunately, the entrance to the “haunted” manor was hidden from view by a stand of potted plants. As she approached the door, the thought occurred to her that a secret meeting, in a deserted manor in the dead of night, would be a perfect trap for House Hlaalu to take a hostage, if they were so inclined. As Assurjan’s Hand, she was about the most valuable potential hostage Juraene clan could offer.

 _And when did you become so distrustful_? She asked herself, though she was fairly certain she knew the answer to that question. She pushed the door open, letting it swing silently into the room.

The inside of the manor was dark, only dimly lit through dusty windows that overlooked the Plaza. Though furniture, books and other items lay about, just as in any other home, all was covered in dust and cobwebs, and she found herself understanding the manor’s “haunted” reputation a little better. No threats were immediately apparent, however, so she ducked into the manor before the Ordinator outside caught sight of her.

Sword held at the ready, she moved carefully through the building, past more abandoned and dusty rooms, ears straining to hear any sounds. Around one corner, she came face-to-face with a tall, silent Dunmer woman, her chitin armor glinting ethereally in the dim light. Raema jerked back, sword darting upward instinctively before she caught herself.

The woman raised both hands in a calming gesture. “Forgive me,” she said. “I did not mean to startle you, Hand of the Ancient. I am Omesu Hlarys; my employer sent me to await you here.”

Heart still pounding, Raema forced herself to relax. Easing her sword down, she managed a small bow. “Please, call me Raema. I was told that Councilor Bero wanted to speak with me regarding... business."

Raema couldn’t imagine that Omesu was thrilled to have dealings with anyone from a vampire clan, but the mercenary showed nothing but cool professionalism. “Of course,” she said. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to Councilor Bero.”

She led Raema deeper into the manor, to rooms brightly lit with candles and lanterns. The Councilor was waiting for her in what appeared to be the dining room, seated at one end of the long table. He stood up when they entered, and greeted her with a great deal more respect than Crassius Curio had ever shown her.

 _I like him already,_ Raema thought with dark amusement, while he dismissed the guard.

In Balmora, at the meeting with the councilors, Raema had been too focused on Assurjan’s offering to House Hlaalu to pay much attention to the others present. Now, she studied the Dark Elf councilman for a moment. He was stern-looking, a Dunmer who was not easily intimidated. His eyes held a calculating look, as if he were accustomed to gauging people's worth at a glance. She wondered what he thought of her, the mysterious Bosmer who had somehow gotten herself attached to a vampire clan.

He poured her a glass of schein, and she let him sip his own before she tried hers. If he noticed it, he didn't let on. They spoke for a time about business; then he unrolled a map onto the table and let her mark out the edges of Juraene clan's reach.

When she straightened up from the map, Dram was watching her. Raema raised a wordless eyebrow at him, thinking with amusement that she had absorbed too many of Assurjan's habits.

Dram took a sip of his schein, then said, “Tell me, Raema... What would you do if Assurjan granted you your freedom tonight?”

Raema blinked. That was not a question that she had expected. Frowning, she set down her glass. “I... I don't know. Freelance, I suppose, or join a guild. Why do you ask?.”

Dram gave her a half-smile, setting his own glass down on the table between them. “Just curious, sera. I imagine that, no matter what you decided to do, you would do it well. We could use someone like you in House Hlaalu.”

“You make it sound as if I have a choice in the matter.”

Dram spread his hands. "Even a slave can make a choice," he murmured.

 _If you escape, Juraene clan will hunt you, and as an escaped slave, you will find no help from the living._ Assurjan’s warning floated through her memory, as she had heard it on the first night she’d met him... The night he had given her the choice of becoming his Hand or his food. She shivered at the memory.

"I told you before," Raema said softly. "Slave or not, I am loyal to Assurjan. And he has already pledged to free me himself," she added, as much for her own benefit as Dram's. "Discussions like these are making me disinclined to trust House Hlaalu, Councilor."

To her surprise, Dram only chuckled. "And I told you before, it is the Hlaalu way to learn as much as we can about our allies. Including whether _we_ can trust _you_."

Raema narrowed her eyes. "Trust me to do what? To remain loyal to Assurjan? Or to support House Hlaalu?"

He looked at her for a long, silent moment-- and the longer it stretched, the more Raema knew it was not hesitation, but a deliberate pause. "The two need not be mutually exclusive," he said finally, with a reassuring smile. "Juraene clan is our ally now, Raema. We are on the same side."

"However," he added, holding up a finger for emphasis. "There is another thing I have told you before, which you may remember. We Hlaalu are opportunists. If an opportunity for profit presents itself, we will seize it. As your ally, I would be remiss if I did not advise you to do the same."

"I... will keep that in mind," Raema murmured, though that was not what she'd intended to say. She added hastily, "And I will pass your advice on to Assurjan, of course."

"Of course," Bero said, with a tiny smile.

 _Get out_ , Raema told herself. _Before you do something else stupid._ Waving a hand at the map, she said, "You should have everything you need, Councilor. I will be in touch; you know where to find us if necessary."

She moved toward the door without waiting for a reply, but he stepped into her path. Raema stopped, fingers itching to reach for her sword.

"I've upset you," Dram said. "I apologize, my lady. It was not my intention to offer insult. I hope this will not affect our relationship with Juraene clan. Will you forgive me?"

She wanted to agree simply to make him move; the shut-in manor was suddenly stifling, overwhelming her with the urge to escape. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to relax. "No one appreciates having their loyalty questioned," she said, giving him a small smile. "But you are right to be cautious. There is much we must learn about each other, if our alliance is to endure."

Dram nodded, giving her a more genuine smile as he stepped aside. "Omesu will walk you out," he said. "I am very impressed with you, my lady Raema. I am certain there will be a place for you in House Hlaalu, should you wish it-- when you are free of Juraene clan, of course. Do consider it."

"Thank you," Raema managed, because she was afraid to say anything else. Pushing past him, she hurried out, letting his Dunmer guard Omesu escort her to the manor's exit.

* * *

Taking in deep gulps of the cool night air, Raema leaned over the canton's rail. Bracing her hands, staring down into the dark waters, she shuddered. Dram's hinted offer did not frighten her as much as had her own reaction. _There was a time when I would have been horrified, infuriated, at any such suggestion._ Before Assurjan had turned her, before she had driven him away, before he had begun treating her so coldly, she would have been indignant at the very suggestion that she was disloyal. But now...

Now, a new thread of temptation had woven its way into her thoughts. And with it, excitement-- she could be _free_.

"Stop it," she muttered aloud, straightening up. _Don't even think of it. Of course you are tempted. It doesn't mean you need to act on it._ Rubbing at her face, she glanced upwards. It was a relief to be back under the stars, even though they were half-hidden by the glow of the city. It was late, some hours till dawn, and most of Vivec was asleep... but if anyone would be awake, it would be Jole. Turning west, she headed to the neighboring canton of St. Delyn.

His home was a modest tenement on the canal level, with a view of the Temple of Vivec. She smiled when she saw the light shining from under his door. Though neither of them were vampires any longer, they both found themselves to be nocturnal, more often than not.

He answered her knock on the door almost immediately, his usual bright grin splitting his dark face. “Raema! Come in,” he welcomed her.

She stepped inside to find the room in a state of disarray, weapons and clothing and a few books scattered haphazardly over nearly every surface. “Bloody Oblivion,” she exclaimed. “Were you robbed, Jole?”

He laughed, taking up a handful of potion bottles and tucking them into a bag on his table. “No, just packing. There’s a vampire that's harassing the settlers up near Dagon Fel; one of the Imperial officials there sent for me. You came just in time; I was planning to leave tonight.”

“Well, I won’t keep you, then,” Raema said. “I was... running some errands in the city, thought I would stop and say hello.”

"Errands for Assurjan?"

She opened her mouth to remark that not _every_ trip out of the lair was on clan business-- then realized that wasn't true. "Yes," she said shortly.

Jole gave her a shrewd glance, but said only, "I've been meaning to ask you: why is House Hlaalu paying me to leave your clan alone?"

Caught off guard, Raema blinked at him. "They are?"

"That's the main reason why business has been so good. They're paying me to take down as many vamps as I can and leave Juraene in peace. Works out pretty well for me, since I was doing that already... But you can understand why it makes me curious."

 _Discretion_ , Raema reminded herself silently, watching him. She trusted Jole, but... _He doesn't need details. And the fewer people that know about the alliance, the better._

"Assurjan and House Hlaalu have... an understanding," she said carefully. "And you needn't ask me what he's doing for them in return. He doesn't trust me as well as he used to." That was truthful enough.

"Hmm. Well, for this kind of pay, I am not really particular about the _why_. But if you do happen to find out, I'd be interested to know."

Raema smiled. "I'll remember that. I won’t keep you any longer, Jole. I have to return to Telasero, anyway.”

He nodded, and gallantly walked her to the door. “You sure you don’t want to come with me? I could always use backup. This Dagon Fel vampire sounds like a tough one.”

“Maybe some other time,” Raema said, more reluctantly than she’d expected to. In fact, she realized that some time away from Juraene clan... and from Assurjan... sounded lovely. “I’m expected back tonight.”

“Alright,” he conceded, as she stepped out the door. “But maybe I can come ask permission to borrow you, sometime soon.”

Raema laughed. “I’d like that... But remember, we agreed to split the pay evenly. You can afford it," she added, teasingly.

He groaned, pressing a hand to his stomach as if she had punched him. Laughing, feeling a little better, she left him to finish his packing.

* * *

As the Hand of the Ancient crossed the bridge, back towards solid ground, Omesu touched the amulet at her neck, and staggered sideways. The amulet was invaluable for getting in and out of her employer's secret manor unseen, and it made tasks like this one infinitely easier-- but she had never gotten used to the wave of vertigo that came with its use. Swallowing hard, she watched until Raema had vanished into the darkness, presumably on her way back to her vampires. Her lip twisted at the thought of an entire fortress full of those undead creatures. Omesu turned back, heading for home. If she hurried, she could make her report to Dram before he went to see Crassius...

 


	6. Chapter 6

“You couldn't choose a less... sinister... location for this meeting, my lady?” Crassius Curio complained. Irarak eyed the Hlaalu; somehow, the councilor had managed to sound both deferential and annoyed.

At Irarak's side, Volrina Quarra simply smiled. “Where would you prefer to meet, Councilor? In a sunlit park, in full view of everyone?”

Curio, wisely, did not answer. He and his companion, the councilor Bero, glanced around at the interior of the Ihinipalit shrine. They both looked uncomfortable, though Bero was less obvious about it, face impassive. His restlessly shifting feet belied the calm expression, though.

A statue of the Daedric god Sheogorath towered overhead, his dapper cane in hand, gazing down at the four of them. It was appropriate, Irarak thought darkly, for the madness they had met to discuss. The god would be pleased by that... hopefully, pleased enough to overlook the deaths of his three worshipers who had been there when the vampires arrived.

Part of the Hlaalu councilors' discomfort might also have been caused by being alone with two vampires, with no guards for protection, Irarak thought. Curio was a fool in some areas, but cunning enough to know that his deal with Quarra must be kept secret. Dram Bero was the only one he had ever brought to any of their meetings.

“Have you made progress?” Quarra asked bluntly, cutting into Irarak's thoughts.

“Yes, my lady,” Curio replied. “We have gathered a large number of fighters, and more are coming as the word spreads among our members. Many...” he hesitated. “Many have suffered a loss of a family member or a friend to a vampire. They are eager for a chance to repay that debt.”

Irarak grimaced. The councilman went on, “We have been able to make inroads into the Telvanni territory, and to fortify two of the strongholds that lay within those lands--"

Volrina waved a dismissive hand. "I am not concerned with your House's trade ambitions, Curio. When will you be ready to move on Telasero?"

Curio licked his lips before answering. "Within two weeks, three at the most, my lady. But I am concerned. I have my channels of information... The Juraene Ancient is known to be extremely dangerous. I fear that any outright attack on the stronghold will end in our failure if he is there to defend it."

Irarak glanced sideways at Quarra, who only smiled, a cruel curve of her lips. "You are correct, of course. We shall have to see that the Ancient is far away when Hlaalu makes its attack. Continue to ready your fighters, Curio; when we have the opportunity to draw Assurjan away from the stronghold, we will have to move quickly. Anything further?"

"The hunter we hired has been most helpful," Curio went on. "Nearly twenty vampires have been killed at his hands since we offered him work. And it seems that he is friends with Raema."

Quarra, who had been eying her nails with disinterest, looked up so sharply that Curio twitched. "Is that so?" she asked, in a low voice.

"The Hand was in the city this evening," Bero said, speaking up for the first time. "One of my people followed her to the hunter's home, and listened to their visit. The hunter offered to team up with the Hand on a hunt, after he returns from Dagon Fel."

Volrina Quarra smiled slowly. "That," she said thoughtfully, "is very interesting."

Silence fell in the shrine. The two Hlaalu glanced at each other.

"Irarak will contact you shortly with further instructions," Quarra said. Then, as if surprised the two were still there, she waved them away impatiently. Curio bowed, and Bero fixed Irarak with a cool, thoughtful stare as they left the shrine.

Quarra turned to Irarak, pale eyes intent on his. However much she had affected boredom with Curio's presence, it was all gone now. "What was the name of that Berne who went rogue, up near Tel Vos? Calrio, Cavio...?"

"Calvario?" Irarak guessed. Like himself, the rogue vampire had left Berne clan long ago. He remembered the Imperial only vaguely, and not fondly.

She snapped her fingers, grinning. "That's it. You will give the Hlaalu a few more days to collect their fighters. Then, you will see that the hunter is hired to capture Calvario. Do it indirectly; I don't want him to see any connection to House Hlaalu."

"Aye, my lady," Irarak said reluctantly. “What are you planning?”

She shook her head, still smiling. “Patience,” she told him. “I don't think I trust you quite enough, yet. Although you _have_ been quite obedient...” she added, her smile shifting to something deeper. She reached for the buckles on her glass bracer. “And I do keep my promises. Would you care to drink...?”

Irarak eyed her bare wrist, remembering the cold blood in her veins, the flaring, burning power that it held. “And my vampires?” he asked, closing his hand around her forearm.

“Still alive,” she reassured him. “And no less whole than at our first meeting. Continue to serve me as admirably as you have been, and they shall remain that way. Tredere sends her love,” she added, with a cruel hint of mockery in her voice.

Irarak fought back a wave of fury. The bloody s'wit did not have the right to speak his lover's name aloud, much less presume to deliver a message... But there was only one way he could be strong enough to save her, and it was pulsing slowly in his grip. Resigned, he sank his fangs into Quarra's skin, drinking in the power that the Ancient had promised, while she smiled down at him.

* * *

"I don't like this," Dram hissed, as they walked St. Delyn's underworks.

Crassius gave a long-suffering sigh, stepping over a pile of refuse. Though the underworks was always deserted, especially in the dead of night, he spoke just above a whisper. "I _know_ you're less than enthused about our latest venture. To which part are you referring? The alliance with a vampire clan, or the fact that we plan to turn against them?"

"At the moment? The fact that we are using _another_ vampire to do it! Why are we taking orders from that... that thing? How do we know she will not turn on us just as easily, after we have done what she wants?"

Crassius stopped at the base of the ladder to the upper level, and turned to face the Dunmer. "She will have no reason to do that... so long as we do not _give_ her a reason. We cannot back out now, Dram. And anyway, why should we? When the eastern coast is ours... Think of it! House Hlaalu will become the most powerful influence on Vvardenfell. Telvanni and Redoran will waste away to nothing!"

"But do we need the vampires to do that? If this all goes wrong, we will have _two_ vampire Ancients thirsting for our blood."

Crassius leaned back a bit, looking surprised. "Come now, Dram... you know as well as I that making great gains entails taking great risks. You've already helped me manipulate the Trade Guilds, and the East Empire Company. The only difference here is the magnitude of risk-- and its reward." He grinned, clapping Dram on the shoulder. "Don't tell me you're going soft, old friend. I still need your help."

Dram pressed his lips together. "No," he said finally. "No, not going soft, thank you very much. You know me, Crassius-- I am cautious by nature. That is all."

"Good." Crassius began the climb the ladder. "Come on, I need a drink."

* * *

_Hands, mouths groped at her, nails and fangs gleaming. They were draining her, down to an empty shell, and she was so hungry... so hungry..._

_"Please, let me feed," she whimpered, as yet another bit into her flesh. Her body twisted under the pain of it, and her plea changed, almost without her realizing. "Please... let me die..."_

Raema bolted upright, gasping, arms swinging, fending off vampires that were not there. In the darkness, she struck one hand against the stone wall beside her bed, hard, and hissed out a curse. _Just a nightmare. Another one. Bloody Oblivion, I only want to sleep_!

Frustration and exhaustion made tears well up in her eyes before she could stop them. _Don't be a child,_ she thought, dashing the tears away. She lay back on her bed, cradling her sore hand, and stared up at the ceiling.

Silweyn. She was living Raema's nightmare, only a few paces away. Vivec only knew how long Assurjan intended to keep her there.

He had threatened to do the same to Raema, once. _There is always room for another sweet-blooded Bosmer among the cattle._ If she'd had the courage to refuse his offer in the first place, it would have been her in there. If she hadn't agreed to work for the vampire, to kill for him and send others to their deaths at his hands.

It was useless to think on might-have-beens, she knew. If she had refused Assurjan's offer of becoming his Hand, she _would_ have been made one of the cattle... and she would have been killed, or worse, when Raxle Berne and the others attacked Assurjan. At the time, she hadn't believed she had a choice... and in truth, she still didn't believe she had.

 _But is it worth it?_ She wondered. _How many more lives will I destroy on his behalf, because I chose to save my own?_

She turned onto her side, staring at the door to Assurjan's chamber. He would be in there, working on his impossible new spell, no doubt. She let her lids close, and saw through Silweyn's eyes again, remembered the despair in her dream.

She would not get any more sleep today. Rubbing blearily at her eyes, she got up and left the chamber.

The cattle's pit was uncomfortably hot, as always. The nearest slaves actually shied away from her when she approached. Raema wasn't certain whether they ever heard details of the goings-on within the clan, if they had heard what Assurjan had done to the last slave she'd brought him... But at the very least, they knew that the last slave she'd chosen had never returned. She could almost feel the fear in them, pressing against her like a heavy cloak on her shoulders. She wondered what they thought of her, the one living person in the stronghold who wielded influence among the undead, who seemed a traitor to their very plight of being living food for the vampires. Guiltily, she hurried past them. She found the object of her search slumped in a deep corner, far back in the tunnel and given a wide berth by the others.

Silweyn looked up, seeming unsurprised to see her. Sweat glistened on her skin, and the nearby lava lit her face with an eerie reddish glow. Her hands were still bound with the magicka-blocking bracers Jole had provided, and a chain from the wall to a cuff on her ankle kept her segregated from the other slaves. It kept her from feeding, Raema realized. Several bite marks already marred the pale skin of her neck. Raema knew that vampires avoided feeding from each other because it was simply not as satisfying as a living victim... but there were clan members eager to take their own measure of revenge against the traitor.

Assurjan had told her not to have any contact with the prisoner, and she had managed to stay away for a few days. Now that she was here, though, she was not sure what she had thought to accomplish. She stared down at the other Bosmer, and Silwyen fixed glittering eyes on her.

“Kept a taste for blood, have you?” she asked, in an echoing voice.

Memory assaulted Raema at the words: a Berne vampire dying under her hands while his blood flowed past her fangs. She pushed the memory away and crouched before the captive.

“Why did you do it?” she said quietly.

Silweyn laughed weakly, her lip twisting. “Why do you care? Don't pretend you don't understand, Raema. You're just like me.” She coughed. “The only way you'll be free is when he dies.”

Raema's heart skipped a beat. More nightmare images burst into her head: Assurjan slumping over his desk, dead with her own sword in him... and the sorrow in his gaze as he'd looked at her, dying. And then, Dram Bero, gauging her loyalty. _A place for you in House Hlaalu...._

Silweyn turned away, staring into the lava pit just a few steps away, evidently finished talking. Raema stood, and gazed down at the chained Bosmer for a moment longer. “I will try to speak to him,” she said softly. “No one deserves this. If nothing else... perhaps he will grant a quick death. If you want it.”

Silweyn looked up at her sharply. “Why?”

_Because it could be me in here._

When she didn't answer, Silweyn leaned her head back against the stone wall and closed her eyes. “Go away, Hand.”

Holding back a sigh, Raema went.

* * *

She found the Ancient in the library, perusing his books. Despite herself, despite everything, the sight of him still made her heart leap. He did not look round from the shelves, and any other time she would have taken the opportunity to gaze at him, wishing things were different.

“My lord?”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, and must have seen in her expression how upset she was. He paused, hand on a book half-off the shelf. “What is it?”

She hesitated, taking a cautious step further into the room. “I... Silweyn has already suffered much, my lord. If there is any way to... to--”

“To show her mercy?” He finished in a dangerous voice, his expression dark. Raema tensed. “As Berne would have shown us when she betrayed us into his hands?” He pushed the book back into place with a loud thump, making her flinch. “I am surprised you would ask this, Raema.”

Raema held his gaze steadily. “She acted for her survival, my lord... as we all did.”

He turned to face her fully, frowning. “And you believe that our continued survival will be assured by showing the clan that I tolerate her betrayal?”

“I do not ask you to free her, my lord, only... do not let her linger, being slowly drained with no end to it. Would a quick death send that much less of a message to the clan?”

“What do you think?” He asked quietly, and Raema pressed her lips together, unwilling to answer. “Juraene clan is balanced on a precipice, Raema. The other three clans have already fallen over the edge, and if we do not regain our footing, we shall follow. My vampires have seen me betrayed, have seen me survive, and been rewarded for their own loyalty. But our strength is not yet assured, and there is nothing to stop them from aligning with the next traitorous n'wah who seems to offer them their only way out of a bad situation. Silweyn gives them a constant visible reminder of the fate that awaits them, should it happen again.” He paused, fixing Raema with an unblinking stare. “And I cannot say that I am sorry to do it.”

Raema stared back, shocked. “It's not like you to be purposefully cruel, Assurjan.”

“No?" He said, too calmly. "It is no worse than what Raxle Berne would have done to me."

“That doesn't make you _better_ than Berne,” Raema snapped. “You've already won your vampires' loyalty, Assurjan. Do you think _threatening_ them will allow you to keep it? This is the example you wish to set? If you teach them to expect ruthlessness, it will only make any traitors that much more determined not to fail.”

“You forget yourself, Hand,” Assurjan said quietly. He had gone very still, which should have been a warning, but she was too upset to take notice.

“No,” she blurted, without thinking. “My duty is to aid you, _my lord_. You gave me this position, and now I have a duty to ensure the safety of Juraene clan, just as much as you do. But you make it difficult when you do things like this, and won't listen to me when I... Assurjan, you don't even _talk_ to me!”

“What more would you have me tell you, Raema? That I am more sorry than I can say for the way _I chose to keep you alive?_ ” That easily, they were no longer speaking of Silweyn. She blinked at the shift in subject. He'd always known what was truly bothering her these last months-- why did he choose to bring it up _now_?

He hadn't moved, but there was a sadness to his expression that reminded her, horribly, of her nightmare. “It is true, but I have already apologized,” he said, his voice going soft. “Will you change your mind if I say it again?”

 _Yes_ , she cried silently, but the word caught in her throat, and did not reach her lips.

Assurjan fixed her with a stone-white stare, unmoving. “You ask for a quick death for the traitor,” he said finally. “It is not something I will grant lightly. I want you to understand the seriousness of the matter, Hand. If you wish to grant her the mercy of a quick death, it will be done at your hands.”

Raema's throat went dry. _She_ had to execute Silweyn? Horror and fury warred within her, and her mouth worked silently, unable to decide which emotion to voice.

Assurjan did not relent. “You are dismissed,” he said, and held her gaze challengingly, waiting for her to leave-- or to defy him. She knew that look; the latter was not a good idea.

Words crowded into her head, infuriated words and curses that she knew would spill out if she opened her mouth. Lips pressed tightly together, glaring at Assurjan, she turned and left the room without another word.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Raema's sword weighed heavily on her shoulders, as if the weight of what she was about to do had settled into the blade. Heat washed against her face as she entered the cavern below the audience chamber. As always, the cattle flinched back from her arrival, cringing in the shadows against the walls, hoping to avoid her notice. She ignored them, this time; she had come for one thing only, and she knew that any distractions would eat away at her resolve.

Silweyn crouched in the same place as before, still shackled to the wall. The vampire looked worse than she had days ago, even more gaunt and weak. Her eyes were sunken, glowing with the dull light of unsated hunger. Raema wondered how long a vampire could survive while being fed upon, and not feeding themselves.

Silweyn looked up as she approached, watching silently as Raema crouched beside her and unlocked her chains from the wall.

“Get up,” Raema said tightly. She gritted her teeth, trying to fight back the urge to help the vampire to her feet. Silweyn rose stiffly, slowly, as if she had aged decades in the past few weeks. When she staggered, Raema caught her arm, steadying her.

Wordlessly, she led the vampire out into the audience chamber. She could sense the captive's surprise when she led her not deeper into the stronghold, but up the ramp to the exit.

They saw no one on the way out. Raema could feel the Juraene vampires just under her awareness, as the indistinct blot on her mind's eye that she could always feel in Telasero, but she saw no one outside. Dawn was approaching; the faint glimmer in the east was too faint to light the night, but that wouldn't last much longer. She led Silweyn down the steps of the stronghold, half-carrying her when she wavered, weak-kneed, on the stairs. Down the steps, into the night, across the expanse where the clan had fought for its survival, where Silweyn had betrayed the Ancient, into the rocks that stood like a stone forest in the dark. Silweyn went silently, and Raema guided her, desperately trying to keep her own mind blank, to keep away from thoughts of what she was about to do.

When she guessed they had gone far enough from the fortress, she stopped, and Silweyn stood still beside her. In the dark, Raema could see her eyes gleaming.

“Why am I here?” the vampire asked, her voice shattered into hungry layers.

Her eyes were luminous, the empty light of a starved vampire. Raema made herself look at them, to meet Silweyn's eyes as she spoke.

“I told you I would talk to Assurjan on your behalf,” she managed.

Silweyn's expression did not change; but she drew herself up a bit straighter, and lifted her chin. “Get on with it, then,” she said, and Raema thought there might be a tremor in her echoing voice.

The grip of her sword was cool as she wrapped her fingers around it. It slid free of the scabbard with a soft scrape of metal, catching the light of Silweyn's eyes in the darkness. Raema stared at her old tutor for a long moment; Silweyn watched her, unflinching.

_Do it. It will be a kindness, in the end._

“Turn around,” Raema whispered, forcing the words out. After a long pause, Silweyn obeyed. The moment stretched, impossibly long. A soft breeze brushed Raema's face, bringing with it the distant call of a cliff racer.

Swallowing hard, Raema reached out her free hand and found the catch on the bracers that Jole had shown her. They sprang free, dropping to the ground between the two women. Silweyn twitched in surprise, but did not move, as if unsure that she understood.

“You won't get another chance,” Raema said softly. “Don't get caught again.”

Silweyn turned to stare at her, luminous eyes wide.

“Go!” Raema snapped, managing to put an edge into her voice for the first time. “Before I change my mind.”

The vampire blinked once, and a tiny smile crept across her lips. Then she was moving away into the night, limping and lacking the usual vampire grace. Raema stayed there for a long time after she was out of sight.

 _Bloody Oblivion... did I do the right thing?_ Slowly, she turned and sheathed her sword, made her way back toward the stronghold. Picking her way between the monolithic stones, she felt an itch between her shoulder blades, as if Silweyn's eyes were still watching her from the dark. Unbidden, her mind conjured up an image of the starving vampire, slaughtering the first innocent victim she came across, too desperate and hungry to be anything but a mindless killer. Raema cursed silently, clenching her fists as Telasero's outline appeared against the faintly lightening sky. Maybe Silweyn would be unable to find any prey before dawn caught her. She didn't know whether a death by sunlight would be a mercy or not.

The stairs to the top level of the stronghold seemed twice as high as usual. She climbed them reluctantly, watching the shadows shrink as the dawn encroached. Inside, the audience chamber was as dark and ominous as ever. She went to Assurjan's rooms, intending to find a book in the library and immerse herself in it. She wanted to forget, at least for a while, what she had done.

Instead, she found Assurjan, sitting in the lone chair at one end of the library, as if he had been waiting for her. She paused, wondering. “My lord...?”

He eyed her, unblinking, for a long moment. “Close the door.”

She did, and approached him slowly, her heart beginning to pound. He was sitting as still as a corpse, with that eerie, undead stillness that set her nerves on edge. He watched her with a stony expression that she recognized: he was furious, and she could almost _feel_ his anger, a throbbing in the faint mental awareness she had of him.

Raema stopped in front of him, at a distance she hoped was a safe one. She made herself meet his gaze, waiting for him to speak, though her spine still crawled with a sense that she knew what was coming.

“You will tell me,” he said finally, in a voice that came out low and dangerous, “why you let Silweyn go free.”

Raema's heart felt as if it dropped into her stomach. _Gods..._ she thought, mind racing. She hadn't expected anyone to realize it quite so soon. The only way he could already know was... if he had been watching her do it. He had to have been near enough to see, shrouded in the darkness. But why hadn't he stopped her, if he'd been watching? Or gone after Silweyn himself?

“I....” her voice trailed off, choked by the possibilities of what to say, and the uncertainty of what would be the best choice.

“You _will_ tell me,” he said again, quietly, with a calm certainty in his voice. “She betrayed me and left me to die, and _you_ have let her escape justice, left her free to threaten Juraene clan once again. You _will_ explain yourself.”

Raema's mouth began moving before her thoughts reached it. “I hardly think she will be a threat to the clan, my lord—”

He broke his stillness, lowering his chin almost imperceptibly; but the way his glare intensified was clear enough. Raema fell silent, and looked away, willing her pounding heart to ease before more words spilled out.

“I... I did not intend to, my lord. Not at first. I only wanted... It wasn't right, leaving her to rot with the cattle, draining her little by little, dragging out her suffering. You told me I could give her a clean death, and that was what I planned. But...”

She took a deep breath, and raised her eyes to his once more. “I have killed for you in cold blood before, my lord. I have murdered a man in his bed for no other reason than that you wanted him dead. I saw Silweyn waiting for me to murder her, and it was like being back in Radd Hard-Heart's bedchamber. I will never be free of his blood on my hands, my lord... And I knew that I could not add Silweyn's blood to it.”

Assurjan regarded her expressionlessly for a moment. “And so you spared her life, such as it is. I do not begrudge you that; I never expected you to kill her. But you have not yet explained why you chose to set her free rather than bring her back into the stronghold.”

Raema blinked. “You never expected--”

He ignored her, continuing, “I named Silweyn a traitor before the entire clan. If it becomes known that you _deliberately_ let her escape, all of Juraene will know you for a traitor, as well. I am not entirely certain that I should not put you in her place among the cattle.”

Raema stared at him, sudden anger flooding over her. “Well, why don't you?” she snapped, all worry forgotten. “Vivec knows I should be there already. Maybe your next Hand will take pity on me and let _me_ go; I have a better chance of freedom there than waiting for _you_ to grant it!”

A muscle jumped in Assurjan's cheek. Otherwise, he remained still as stone, but she thought she saw his expression change, in the blink of an eye. For that brief fraction of a moment, she could almost swear he looked... stricken.

Talintus chose that moment to open the door, peering into the antechamber. Assurjan's face slipped back behind his carefully blank mask. Seeing the two of them staring at each other, Talintus hesitated, then cleared his throat carefully.

“Yes?” Assurjan said, with a hint of impatience.

“Ah... Beg pardon for the interruption, my lord, but you have a visitor. It's that Redguard vampire hunter, Jole. He asks to speak to you, my lord.”

Raema felt almost a physical relief of pressure as the Ancient finally looked away from her, flicking that stony stare toward the other vampire. “Send him in.”

With a hurried bow, Talintus ducked out of the room, looking only too happy to go. Raema's heart began to pound as Assurjan turned his gaze back to her. Why would Jole come to speak to the Ancient? Had he caught another of their fugitive traitors? _I don't think I can bear to witness any more punishment._

“We will speak of this later,” he said, his voice tight. She managed a nod, still half-shocked at her own outburst... and his reaction, the one that she couldn't be completely certain she'd seen.

He beckoned for her to join him. Forcing leaden feet into motion, Raema took up her place at his side, as if they had not been quarreling only moments ago. _We must present a unified front_ , she thought with sour amusement, clasping her hands behind her back.

A moment later, Talintus ushered Jole into the room. Jole gave Assurjan a low bow, rising with his customary grin, directed mostly toward her. “Greetings, my lord; Raema. How are you?”

Raema winced inwardly. Jole was being more respectful of the Ancient than he usually was, but Assurjan had little tolerance for the hunter at the best of times. In his current mood, he would have no patience for exchanging niceties. She shook her head slightly, hoping Jole would see and understand the hint.

He did, letting his smile fade a bit. “My lord, I come with a request... I have been hired by the Nerano family to hunt down a certain vampire, a former member of Berne clan named Calvario. He has made his lair in a tomb in the Grazelands. I've heard rumors about this vampire; they say he is quite dangerous, and I'd prefer not to go on this hunt alone. So I thought, if you could spare her, I might borrow your Hand to back me up. She knows vampires, has no fear of being turned, and I trust her.” He glanced at her, his smile widening again momentarily. “For equal pay, of course.”

Raema felt a little shiver of excitement run through her. She had nearly forgotten Jole's offer to bring her on a hunt. Now, the possibility of some time away from Telasero-- away from Assurjan-- could not have come at a better time.

Assurjan was quiet for a long moment. “I am not in the habit of lending out the services of my clan members,” he said finally. “However... Calvario's destruction would be to our advantage. Grant me the day to consider, Ser Devan, and I shall tell you at sunset.” He glanced at Raema. “You may go and see that our guest is made comfortable.” There was no hint of their earlier argument in his voice, but she could see it, that cool anger still pooled in his stone-white eyes.

Thus dismissed, Raema escorted Jole from the library. “What in Vivec's name is going on?” the hunter asked in a low voice, as soon as they had left the room. “I've been in duels that weren't as tense as the two of you in there.”

“It's a long story,” she sighed. Jole would never accept any sleeping accommodations within the stronghold full of vampires, she knew, so she led him back toward the exit. “Come on, and I'll tell you.”

* * *

Raema's eyes still hadn't adjusted to the morning sunlight before she led Jole back into dimness-- this time inside the Propylon Chamber located outside the stronghold. It was secluded from the rest of the clan, and so long as the sun was up, it was not likely to have any vampiric visitors. Jole glanced around approvingly, and began setting out his bedroll, against the far wall from the entrance. Raema moved to help him; he let her take over the chore while he pulled a few items from his pack. “Hungry?”

Raema waved away the proffered food, and sat down, leaning back against the wall. Jole settled down beside her, and they sat in companionable silence, bathed in the fluctuating light of the propylon links while Jole ate.

“Does Assurjan worry about these?” The Redguard asked, waving at the two portals. “I'm surprised you don't have a guard on them. Seems dangerous to have a fortress into which anyone could just appear without notice.”

Raema shrugged. “He has the index for Telasero in his chamber,” she told him. “He found it here when he took the stronghold from the Sixth House. Anyway, no one travels by propylon these days.”

Jole grunted. “I suppose not.”

The silence stretched a bit further. Raema gazed up at the swirling ribbons of light and waited for him to ask, again, what was bothering her.

“You already know,” she replied, when the question finally came.

“Do I?” Jole tossed a chunk of bread in the air and caught it in his mouth.

“I don't know what to do,” Raema admitted with a sigh. “Things are... difficult.”

“Anyone can see that. And I'm sure that letting loose dangerous prisoners is _not_ the way to improve things. What _else_ are you doing about it?” He had been none too pleased to hear that Silweyn had been set free.

 _Arguing, mostly_ , she thought. “Hopefully, going with you for a few days so he and I can both... think things through.”

Her friend set his food aside and turned to look at her, for once his expression serious. “Be careful, Raema,” he told her. “Remember what I told you.”

_Vampires hate, and hunger, and kill... but they don't love._

“I know,” she said, and he raised his eyebrows.

“What, no protestations that you're _not_ in love? Does that mean you've given up denying it?”

“Oh, shut up,” she said, shoving him. He fell sideways, laughing, and Raema grinned in spite of herself.

When he'd righted himself, he put away the remains of his food as they sat in silence. He settled back against the wall beside her, hands behind his head. “Do you remember what else I told you?” He asked softly.

Raema glanced askance at him, as his voice filled her memory again. _I kill vampires for a living. You are the only reason I haven't yet--_

“I remember.” It came out in a whisper.

He held her gaze, dark eyes filled with a deadly seriousness that she had only rarely seen in him. “You are my friend, Raema. You need only say the word, and I will set you free.”

 _First Dram Bero, now Jole..._ She shook her head mutely, afraid to speak, afraid of what she would say if she did. Her friend eyed her a moment longer, looking as if he wanted to say more. Finally, though, he only smiled, and the moment passed.

“Suit yourself,” he said lightly, moving to lay down on the bedroll. “If you want to spend your time stuck with an arrogant undead who is too foolishly blind to see what's right under his nose, that's your affair...”

Raema rolled her eyes. “Get some rest,” she told him. “I'll talk to him tonight.”

He mumbled something in response, and was snoring moments later. Raema stayed where she was, staring into the flaring ribbons of light that made up the propylon links. Jole's words echoed in her mind, and Dram Bero's, too.

_Give the word, and I will set you free._

_Your best chance for freedom would be Juraene's downfall._

Another voice, one that hurt to remember. _I have already apologized. Will you change your mind if I say it again?_

 _I want to_ , she thought, swallowing hard. _If I thought it would do any good._

She was not a traitor. She had sworn an oath to Assurjan, to serve him and the clan. Whatever else she had done in his service, she had kept her word. She still had that much honor.

 _But you set free a traitor_ , said a silent voice. _She betrayed him, and you set her free. It's nearly as bad as betraying him yourself._

_Would it be that much harder, that much farther of a step, to--_

Her nightmare flashed through her mind: Assurjan's death at her hands, the blood spilling slowly from her sword buried in his chest. If she accepted Jole's offer, or Dram's, it would be no different than killing him herself.

 _He needs someone he can trust, someone loyal_ , Irarak had said.

 _I want to be that person for him_ , she thought. _I was, once. It was easier when..._

_When I thought he might love me back._

Her mind stilled for a moment, as she turned over that thought like a polished stone. _Gods help me. I do love him._

 _And he does not love me._ It was no wonder, she realized, that freedom beckoned to her so strongly. It was only after her cure that it had begun to tempt her so. Before then, there had been more than just her oath to hold her to the clan. Where the promise of their growing relationship had once shone, like a beacon leading her forward, now there was nothing. Not so much as a smile or a teasing word given in her direction, and it hurt to be near him. Why shouldn't she long for freedom, when it would take her away from the pain of his indifference, from the knowledge of what might have been?

She ran a hand through her hair, feeling torn in two. She was not a traitor.

But neither did she want to be the Hand any longer.

Her thoughts chased themselves in dizzy circles for a long time, following the swirling light of the propylon links that burned into her eyes. It was nearly noon by the time she made herself get up and go back to her own bed in the stronghold, back to the nightmares that she knew awaited her.

* * *

Assurjan paced the length of his library, deep in thought. The last thing he wanted to do was send Raema off to hunt a dangerous rogue vampire with the Redguard, especially now. He'd had an uneasy sort of truce with the hunter since he killed Raxle Berne, but the man had also captured Assurjan himself once, and the Ancient was not inclined to trust him.

On the other hand... her words had hit him deeper than she had guessed. _I have a better chance of freedom with the cattle than waiting for you to grant it!_ And he had known, watching Raema release Silweyn into the night, that it was what he needed to do. It _should_ be Raema in Silweyn's place... not among the cattle, but free. Free to live her life the way _she_ chose.

Free of him.

His fists clenched. _I cannot._ He did not know where she would go, what she would do... but he knew, with a certainty deeper than his bones, that he would never see her again. The thought of losing her forever, never having her by his side... _I do not think I can bear to go back to that dark and weary unlife I led before I found her._

 _But can you bear the guilt?_ Asked a small voice inside him. _Is it worth having her at your side, when you must force her to be there?_

_How long will it be until her bitterness outweighs her loyalty?_

He drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly. Perhaps it would do Raema-- and himself-- some good if she spent time away from the clan, before their tempers got the better of them both. It was in Juraene clan's best interests to see that the more powerful rogue vampires were dealt with. If she went to aid the hunter for a few days, and gave him time to think... Perhaps he would be able to reach a decision about her freedom.

With a sinking feeling, he realized he had already made the decision. The only thing left to do was prepare to give her up.

Scowling, he turned toward his bedchamber, where his work on the new spell still awaited him. There would be time enough after sundown to speak with her. For now, he forced himself to return to the spell, resolving to channel his anger into the work... and refusing to think, for now, about the decision that he knew he must make.

* * *

“Fix your feet, girl,” Talintus said gruffly.

Raema looked up at her mentor with a tiny smile. The Imperial had been a member of the Legion, before being turned, and he still approached her sword training as he would have taught his new recruits-- though, when he remembered to, he tried to show her the respect that was due the Hand of the Ancient. It often led to interesting training, she thought, amused, as she shifted her feet slightly.

At his nod of approval, she resumed the form she was learning, frowning in concentration. Assurjan had shut himself into his bedchamber all day, ostensibly to consider Jole's request. When she had awoken near sunset and he still had not emerged, she'd come down to the room Talintus used for training, hoping to work out some of the adrenaline that had poured through her veins during her most recent nightmare.

Talintus had obliged, and was working her harder than usual; sweat dripped from her skin, stinging her eyes and soaking her shirt, as she struggled to meet his exacting standards.

“Higher,” he corrected, reaching out to cautiously grip the blade between thumb and forefinger and shift it upward a hand's breadth. He stepped back and eyed her critically. “No, no. Your balance is off. Lean back a bit.”

Since she was facing the doorway, she could see Assurjan over Talintus' shoulder when the Ancient appeared in the entrance. Seeing her gaze shift, her trainer turned to look.

“My lord,” he said, stepping away to bow. “What may I--”

“Leave us,” Assurjan said curtly, and Talintus obeyed, casting a concerned glance Raema's way before slipping out the door. Raema lowered the sword and relaxed her stance, eying Assurjan.

“It has been a long time, has it not?” he asked, nodding toward her sword. The first and last time they had sparred each other was before she had been officially named as his Hand. It still made her smile when she thought of it, remembering how easily he had defeated her.

“Yes...” As she watched, he came into the room and took a sword from the rack nearby. He still moved with the dangerous ease of a predator; she had become so used to it that she hardly noticed it. Now that he had a weapon in his hand, however, that danger was frighteningly obvious. Instinctively, she gripped her own sword tighter, shifting her balance to be better prepared for an attack.

He noticed it, and she saw the corner of his mouth quirk up in a ghost of a smile.

“Come,” he said, raising his weapon to the ready.

Raema did not hesitate, darting forward, sword coming up in a wide arc for a downward strike. He evaded it easily, bringing his own weapon forward in a counterattack that she had been expecting; she blocked it smoothly. The momentum of the exchange carried her past him, and they found themselves having traded places, still eying each other.

The last time, he had goaded her into fighting, had provoked an angry reaction to get her to fight back. This time, he needed to say nothing; everything that could be said had already been voiced. It was the unspoken words that fueled her anger, this time. The two darted at each other, blades clashing loudly, and furiously fast. Raema found herself easily holding her own, and a distant part of her mind was elated when she realized how far she had come. Once, she would have had to push herself hard to fight half this well; now, it seemed as natural as breathing. Inspired by the thought, she pressed the attack, forcing Assurjan on the defensive. He let her do it for a few moments before taking the offensive again.

It went on for a long time, the both of them trading blows and escalating their intensity, little by little. It felt... _wonderful,_ she realized with surprise. Tension that had been building between them for months found release with every clash of their swords. There were moments when Raema could forget the anger that had seethed between them only hours ago, and she found herself nearly grinning at the exhilaration of the fight.

Absently, Raema noted that a silent crowd had formed outside the room; the vampires had come to watch their Ancient and his Hand fight. It would have made her nervous, if she had not been concentrating so thoroughly on the duel. Assurjan watched her as intently as a kagouti fixed on its prey, eyes locked onto hers. At some point, Raema was shocked to realize that sweat had begun to gleam on _his_ skin... She was pushing him harder than she had realized, though he gave no other outward sign of it.

 _More_ , she thought to herself, forcing him back with a flurry of vicious strikes that he was hard-pressed to avoid. It was hardly a realistic fight, of course-- he had the sorcerer’s skills to kill her where she stood, if he wanted to-- but if there was a chance she might actually best him in swordplay, she was bloody well going to take it.

The fight went on, and on. The stone floor became treacherously slick with sweat under her boots, and her breath came hard and fast, her arms burning with the effort of wielding the sword. By the look on Assurjan's face, he was exerting himself just as much as she was, but she was growing too tired to appreciate that fact. It took a few more long, interminable minutes before she realized what it meant: they were equally matched. Once, she would have given anything for that to be true; now, she was caught in a new dilemma.

The watching eyes of Juraene clan's vampires bored into her back as she circled the room warily, watching his steps for clues to his next move. The vampires had come to watch their Ancient and his Hand, and had gotten quite a show... but now Raema was unsure how to end it. It was obvious that until she tired, they could go on indefinitely.

But she knew, catching a glimpse of their audience, that the vampires needed to see their Ancient win. They needed to know that he could, that he would, that he wasn't being eclipsed by her. And yet, if they saw her _allow_ him to win, he would lose their respect to a far worse degree. Trying to think quickly, she launched a new attack, wondering how she might be able to let him win without being obvious, without sending Juraene clan tipping over that precipice that he had talked about. Maybe, if she pretended to slip, and then--

In a move she didn't anticipate, Assurjan suddenly whirled, somehow spinning away from her and yet ending right beside her, inside her guard, driving an elbow backward into her midsection. Before she could get away, he twisted, caught her arm quick as lightning, and swept her foot from underneath her, forcing her face-first to the ground. Seized by a sudden panic, forgetting it was not a true fight, she let her sword-hand, still free, slap palm-down against the stone floor with a clang. She spun the weapon against the floor, reversing her grip, and stabbed up and back, knowing that the sword's length should allow her to reach--

“Enough,” Assurjan said, shifting his weight to avoid her blind strike and catch her wrist in his free hand. The motion put more pressure on the arm he already held twisted, making her gasp. She froze, blood pounding in her ears.

The vampire moved, holding her immobile and bending over her, a dark presence in her peripheral vision. In a voice pitched low and dangerous, he said, “Do not underestimate me, Raema.”

Dripping with the sweat of exertion, she went cold at his words. Did he know about Dram, or about Jole's offer? _He can't possibly... can he? Bloody Oblivion..._ Breathless, she nodded, as best as she could while pressed against the stone floor.

With fluid grace, he let her go and stepped away. Raema got slowly to her feet, watching him return his sword to the rack of weapons. He shot a glare at toward the crowd of vampires at the door, and they began to disperse, murmuring among themselves. When Assurjan turned back to her, he was just as calm-faced as ever. Only the faint sheen of sweat on his dark skin hinted that they had been locked in combat moments before.

“Calvario is a threat to Juraene clan, one that I wish removed,” he said quietly. “You may go and assist the Redguard in hunting him. Take any provisions you need.”

Raema blinked in surprise. “As you wish, my lord.” She moved past him to put her own practice sword away, and he caught her arm in an iron grip, stopping her in her tracks. She looked up at him, startled-- and more than a little flustered by the touch of his hand on her skin.

He held her gaze a bit longer. “I will speak to you when you return,” he said finally. For an instant, his expression flickered from neutral to something softer, then back again just as quickly. “Be careful, Raema.”

She managed a smile, hoping it covered the way her heartbeat stumbled over itself, the way she very nearly dropped her sword. “I'm always careful, my lord.”

He raised a skeptical brow, and she suddenly wanted to giggle. For a heartbeat, it was as if nothing had ever changed between them. She could almost hear him say, with a teasing note of disbelief in his voice, _Oh, indeed?_

The moment passed, and he released her arm, turning to go. She was left standing in the chamber alone, wondering if she had only imagined that flicker in his expression.

 


	8. Chapter 8

They arrived in Suran some hours after dark, early enough that the shops were still open. Raema was eager to immediately track down their prey, but Jole convinced her that there was no rush. “It will be a long walk to Nerano, and we'll have to wait for dawn before we go in, at any rate,” he pointed out, as they made their way into the small town. In no hurry, he took her to the smithy and trader in the town square, where he pointed out a few accoutrements that he said were invaluable to vampire hunters. Raema listened to his advice and bought a pair of small silver knives. The purchase brought back uncomfortable memories of how lost she had felt as a vampire, when her only weapon had been a single glass dagger.

Jole seemed excited to be finally showing her the tricks of his trade, and she remarked upon it as they left the trader's shop and headed toward the town gate.

He grinned at her. “It gets lonely after a while, chasing the undead all over creation,” he admitted. “It's nice to finally have some company.”

“I can imagine,” she agreed, as they left the town. Their road curved north, leading them back into the familiar stony landscape of the Molag Amur region. “Why do you do it, Jole?”

He shrugged. “Someone has to,” he pointed out. “Vampires are a danger, a threat to all the normal citizens around them... even Assurjan, though I know you don't want to hear that. Most people are too scared of being turned to actually do anything about it... But I don't have that to fear, at least. It's good money, for something that I know well, and that no one else dares to do.”

He was silent for a moment, and Raema eyed him sideways. In the darkness, he was only a shadow at her side, and he moved with a compact sort of grace that echoed the vampires'.

“There's more than that, isn't there?” She asked softly. “Jole, I'm grateful that you've left Juraene clan alone... but I saw your face when Assurjan was bound to that pole on the top of Fort Buckmoth, waiting for sunrise. And when we fought the other clans, at Telasero. This is _important._ It's more than just a job for you.”

Jole was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was low and harsh. “When I was turned,” he said, “I didn't know it. I awoke from a nightmare that I had killed my wife and son, and realized that the nightmare was no dream.”

Raema stopped, blinking away a terrible image in her head: moonlight on blood-soaked sheets. “You fed,” she whispered, horrified. She remembered how her own instincts had taken over when she'd awoken as a vampire. The need for blood had overridden everything else, every awareness, every bit of self-control. She hadn't been able to stop herself-- hadn't even wanted to. If things had been different, if she had awoken as a new vampire with that consuming hunger and a helpless, defenseless family sleeping within arms' reach...

“Gods, Jole...”

He turned to look at her, more serious than she had ever seen him, and she caught a glimpse behind the mask of teasing humor that he always wore. Beneath that fragile cover was a man she hardly knew, a man who was coping with a burden of guilt in the best way he knew how.

“I hunted down the vampire who had turned me, and killed him. And then I found another, and killed her. I was a mercenary; I was good at it, though what I was really trying to do was get _myself_ killed.”

Raema bit her lip, watching as her friend's old pain slowly resurfaced. He gazed out over the rocky land as if seeing that painful history in his mind once again. “Eventually, I realized I was strong enough to keep killing them, and I had developed more than just a death wish. I wanted _them_ dead, all of them, so that no more families might be torn apart by the horror of the undead.” He huffed out a soft breath. “I almost didn't take the cure, when I was given the opportunity. It seemed hypocritical, somehow. I didn't know the circumstances of any other vampire's origins; what if they had been as horrific as my own?”

He paused, glancing down at his hands. “But in the end,” he murmured, “none of them tried to _do_ anything about it. I was the only one, it seemed, who showed any remorse for what I had become, what I had done. So I vowed to keep hunting them, all of them. I took the cure so that the sunlight would give me an advantage, so that the living would not turn me away. And after Hammerfell was cleared of vampires, I left.”

“Bloody Oblivion,” Raema exclaimed, awed. “You rid the entire nation of vampires? Yourself?”

Jole looked over and gave her a humorless half-smile. “I'm good at what I do,” he murmured.

Raema laughed wryly, as they resumed their pace along the path. “And so you've been... just traveling around the Empire, hunting down any vampires you can find?”

Jole slowed his stride, turning to look at her in the dim moonlight. “Not _any_ vampires. _Every_ vampire.” He fixed her with a dark stare that, even half-hidden in the shadows, made a chill run down her spine. “I should tell you, Raema... I am willing to let Juraene clan be, for now, because I count you as a friend. But someday, if Assurjan manages to last that long, his clan will be the only one left. Even after I move on from Vvardenfell, eventually my oath will lead me back here. For him, and his clan.”

Raema stopped, senses suddenly on alert. “It almost sounds as if you're threatening me, Jole,” she said evenly, when he stopped and turned to look at her. He gave her a lopsided smile.

“Not at all,” he said, sounding sincere. “You _are_ my friend, Raema, and it's not a threat. I just want you to be aware. I swore on my wife's name to destroy all vampires. Someday, it will be Juraene clan's time, and I will be back to honor my oath. I don't want you to get hurt when I do.”

A cold little sliver of fear lodged itself in Raema's heart. Having seen Jole fight, having seen him kill one Ancient already, and now looking at the utter seriousness in his eyes, she believed him. She waited a long moment, thinking over his words. “And you're telling me this just before we go into danger together, because...?”

He met her gaze without flinching. “You've been a vampire,” he said quietly. “I know you understand.”

She let out a long breath. _He's right_. “Well... with any luck, I will be long gone by the time you return.”

He fell into step beside her once more, and the tension between them began to dissolve. “I hope so.” _For your own sake_ , came the silent addition to his words.

Raema managed to turn the conversation to lighter things, and they made their way northward with the easy banter of old friends. As they walked, she worked at her spell-casting. She had let her practicing lapse a bit in recent days, and it showed in the fitful puffs of smoke-- the best she could manage, at first. Despite Jole's teasing, she persevered, and was able to form a few true spells of Fire before she finished.

A bit past dawn, the ash-choked, rocky land of Molag Amur began to give way to the greener landscape of the Grazelands. The foliage began sparsely at first, only a few scraggly trees and scattered patches of grass, growing gradually more dense as they went on. By the time the sun was well over the horizon, they were walking through fields of tall grass, listening to the breeze rustle the trees beside the road. They had to skirt wide around several Ashlander yurts; the tribeless warriors loved nothing more than to cause trouble with travelers on the road.

Midmorning, they stopped to eat, and to rest for a few hours before heading on. The sky began to darken with clouds in late afternoon as they began to move again; full darkness came early that evening under the stormclouds that began to fill the sky. When it began to rain, they ducked into the first cave they could find. “No harm in waiting out the rain,” Jole reasoned, as they made themselves comfortable. “At this pace, we'd reach the tomb tonight and still have to wait for dawn. Might as well just wait here instead."

After they had inspected the cave, Raema and Jole settled down near the entrance, in the light of the glowing crystal formations that grew there. They talked and laughed for a while, teasing each other as always, and Raema could almost forget what he had told her earlier. He was so skilled at hiding his pain with that bright smile... but now that she knew it was there, she could catch glimpses of the darkness inside him, when the conversation slowed and he gazed silently into the cave's shadows.

She wasn't sure what to make of his claim, or his warning. She had seen him fight, and if anyone could rid an entire land of vampires, she could well believe it had been Jole. But if he were willing, as he said, to leave Juraene clan alone and take his hunt elsewhere for a while... _If, like he says, there are other clans in the Empire, it'll take years for him to hunt them all down._ Morbid a thought as it was, she didn't quite believe he would return to Morrowind before his age caught up with him. _Vivec willing, I'll be long gone, at least._

On the other hand, his words still triggered the instinctive reaction she had developed as Assurjan's protector. It was hard to balance that frame of mind with her knowledge of Jole as a friend, and it set her nerves on edge. However far in the future, he had revealed himself as a threat to the clan and the Ancient, and she could not ignore that. Later, after they had bid each other good night, she stared across the cave at his sleeping form, and wondered whose side she would choose, if it ever came to that.

In the morning, the rain had ceased, though the sky remained overcast and gray. After they had eaten, they set off northward once more, and Jole remarked that they should arrive before noon.

The road wound through the Grazelands, past the encampment of the Zainab Ashlander tribe, past the strange, stone-and-twisted-growth architecture of Vos and Tel Vos. They saw few people on the road, only the occasional farmer or villager.

Shortly past Tel Vos, the road curved toward the northeast; Jole consulted his map, and directed them to the west, striding through the grass. Over a few hills, around a few trees, and then the door to the Nerano tomb appeared, a low arch set into the hillside.

“Be ready,” he advised her, as they approached the door. “Calvario might not be the only vampire here. And it is a tomb, after all; there could be ghosts or any number of other friends waiting for us.”

Raema nodded and drew her sword, checking that her two new daggers were readily available at her belt. Jole drew a pair of blades himself, some throwing knives that glittered with enchantments. Tucking both into one hand, he reached for the door with his other, then paused.

“What is it?” Raema asked, her heart beginning to pound in anticipation.

Jole shook his head, as if unsure. “Something's wrong,” he muttered. “Do you feel it?”

Frowning, Raema focused inward, knowing what sort of _feeling_ he meant. Imprinted on her mind's eye, she could sense vampires, but faintly. Their numbers, their strength, and the clan they belonged to, all knowledge she could have gained if she were still undead herself, were out of the reach of her lapsed abilities.

She nodded, meeting Jole's eyes. “More than one,” she murmured, and shrugged. “But beyond that...”

“Hmmmpph,” Jole said, in a vague agreement. He closed his hand around the door handle. “Stay alert,” he advised, and swung the door inward.

They found themselves in a dim little chamber, lit by torches ensconced on the walls. _Someone_ is _here,_ Raema thought, eying the flickering flames. _Though I knew that already._

A staircase to their right led down, deeper into the tomb. Jole descended slowly, and Raema followed, watching their shadows stretch and shift against the walls between torches. The tomb held a deathly stillness, hanging heavily around them. The air was cool and dry, and carried a scent of decay. Raema wrinkled her nose as they moved on.

Halfway down the stairs, Jole stopped, holding up a hand. _Bonewalker,_ he mouthed, pointing. From where she stood, she could see the creature's feet, shifting with slow restlessness in the chamber at the bottom of the stairs.

Raising her sword, she moved past Jole and took the last four stairs in a leap, lunging into the room. Her blade caught the monster across its massive chest; it let out a hideous cry, swiping one misshapen arm at her. She let her own momentum carry her out of reach, and the creature snarled again as one of Jole's throwing knives sank into it with a wet _thunk_. Whirling, Raema swung again, just as the Bonewalker turned. It was fast, faster than she'd expected. Before her blade landed, the creature's arm struck her head, sending her staggering aside. Her shoulder hit the wall, and she moved to raise her sword-- and found that she could hardly lift it.

 _The bloody thing's spelled me,_ she realized, straining to lift her weapon. Snarling, the Bonewalker advanced, swinging another massive arm towards her face. She dropped the sword and ducked her head, diving off to the side. It was easy enough to roll out of the way, but she nearly fell trying to regain her feet. She turned to face the creature again, just in time to see it howl in pain. It dropped to its knees, then fell forward onto its face with Jole's boot planted in the center of its spine. A long gash sliced through the back of its neck, with Jole's knife still planted in the rotting flesh.

“You alright?” The Redguard asked, bending down to retrieve his weapon.

“Fine... just weak,” Raema said ruefully. She leaned back against the wall, eying her sword where it lay on the floor. It seemed far too out of reach. “Let me have one of those potions you brought.”

Jole rifled through his pack and tossed her one of the bottles he had purchased in Suran, then set to cleaning the Bonewalker's flesh off his knife. The potion tasted like rotten kwama eggs, and Raema nearly gagged on it, but it restored her to her normal self almost immediately. While she retrieved her sword, Jole crouched over the dead corpse that lay almost beneath the Bonewalker. It was a Breton, showing the pale, withered signs of a man who had died at the hands of a vampire.

“Come on,” Jole said quietly, when she was ready. They left the two bodies where they lay, and stepped through the door to the next room.

This chamber was larger, lined with more urns of the Nerano family's deceased. The stench of decay was stronger here, enough to make Raema cough, her eyes watering.

“You take me to such wonderful places, Jole,” she muttered, as they searched the room.

He flashed her a grin, teeth gleaming in the dimness. “This is nothing. Once I was chasing a vampire through some guar-herder's land in the dead of night, couldn't see where I was going. Do you know how messy a herd of guars is?”

Raema stepped over another corpse, this one also marked with the signs of vampirism. It was no wonder the place smelled so hideous. “No... Do I want to know?”

“I didn't know, either. Until I tripped and fell on my face in it.”

Raema shuddered, holding back a laugh. “That's disgusting, Jole!”

He shrugged, flipping his throwing knife to hold it by the blade. “Makes this not seem so bad, doesn't it?” He asked, crouching to search the pockets of a third body.

Raema could only roll her eyes. They moved across the room, stopping at the door on the far side. As before, Jole reached for the door handle, then hesitated. “Perhaps we should wait,” he said softly. “This Calvario feels a lot stronger than I expected.”

Raema frowned. She could sense it too, and it worried her, but... “He's trapped here. It's better to have vampires trapped by the sunlight...”

"Yes, but not when they're so much stronger than you,” Jole said wryly. “You think a vampire will just _surrender_ because we have him cornered?”

She drew in a deep breath. He was right; their prey would only fight harder, if there was nowhere for him to run. But they were already there, and Jole had asked for her help for a reason. “Who else are you going to find to come help us?" She asked pointedly. “Is there anyone else you trust?”

Jole grinned. “You know you're my one and only,” he teased. “Ready?”

Resolutely, Raema reached back and eased her sword from its sheath. “Ready.”

She heard Jole draw in a sharp breath before he slammed a boot against the door, kicking it open. He burst into the shrine beyond, throwing star raised in his right hand for an immediate throw, and she darted in behind him, sword at the ready.

The blast hit her square in the chest, slamming her back against the wall. Stunned, she slumped to the ground, ears ringing, head spinning. Beside her, she could see Jole struggling on his hands and knees, reaching for the weapons he had dropped.

 _What..?_ Raema shook her head, dazed, knowing there was no time to waste recovering. Whatever had been awaiting them was not going to give them the opportunity to recover. She still had her sword; she forced her fingers to close tighter about the hilt and got unsteadily to her feet. Lifting her head, she swallowed back a wave of nausea and turned to face their attacker.

She had never met the vampire who stood before them, hands still flickering with magicka, but she'd heard descriptions. It took her stunned senses a moment to recognize her. _No_ , she thought numbly, shocked. _She's dead. Assurjan said she burned in the daylight, outside Telasero._ “You're...”

“Not dead,” Volrina Quarra finished with a smile, stepping closer. Instinctively, Raema raised her sword, staggering as the room spun around her again. Quarra reached out with a lighting-fast grip and clamped a gloved hand around Raema's wrist. Pain shot through her arm, and she cried out, clinging desperately to her sword as she swung her other fist at the vampire.

The Ancient knocked her arm aside, and struck her own fist against Raema's skull. Behind her eyelids, lights flared, then faded, along with everything else.

* * *

 _Just a little farther..._ Jole gritted his teeth and lunged for his fallen knife, finally closing his fingers around the hilt. He heard a thump as Raema sank to the ground. _Get up,_ he told himself desperately. _She's coming!_

A glass boot descended on his hand, just hard enough to grind his knuckles into the ground and pin the dagger in place. Snarling, he fumbled at his belt for a new throwing star with his free hand.

“Oh, stop it,” the Ancient said impatiently. Light flared, a spell that sank like iron into his bones. Heavy, too heavy to move, he could hardly breathe under the weight of his own body. His free hand flopped to the floor, useless under the Burden spell she had cast upon him.

“That's better,” Volrina purred, crouching beside him without lifting her boot from his hand. She seized a handful of his hair and twisted his head; for a horrible instant he awaited the snap of his own neck, but she stopped when she met his eyes.

“I'm disappointed, hunter,” she said, smiling. “This was far too easy. And what will Assurjan say, when he learns you've lost his little pet?”

He fought to draw a breath, heard it hiss through his teeth. “Why...”

She shifted slightly, grinding his fingers into the floor under her boot. Lacking the breath to scream, he could only gasp.

“If you're lucky,” she continued in a sibilant whisper, her voice layering over itself with hunger, “he'll only kill you.” She chuckled softly, and began searching him methodically, making a neat pile with the weapons she found. Helpless, he glared at her as she found one after another, and the bracers he had had custom-made. Those, she _tsked_ over, shaking her head with an ironic twist on her lips as she tossed them aside. When he was stripped of anything that might have been a weapon, she rose back to her feet.

Freed the agony of her weight on his hand, Jole could only watch, still weighted to the floor as if his bones were made of ebony, while Volrina Quarra walked back to Raema's crumpled form. “No,” he whispered, as the vampire began to repeat the process of stripping away weapons. She gestured curtly to a figure that stood back in the shadows. For the first time, Jole saw Calvario; the Berne vampire came forward at Quarra's summons, a gleaming light in his pale eyes.

“Very nice spellwork, my lady,” he commented, flicking a glance in Jole's direction. “I would have had a difficult time with it, myself.”

“You are welcome,” Quarra said dryly, tucking Raema's new daggers behind her belt. Assurjan's Hand stirred weakly, her head lolling to the side. “She's coming around. She's all yours, Calvario, but keep her in check; she is not to escape.”

The other vampire's eyes brightened a little as he looked down at Raema. A cruel smile pulled at his lips. “You need not worryon that account, my lady.”

Curses welled up in Jole's mind, but he lacked the breath to voice them. Instead, he concentrated on drawing one pained breath after another. The Quarra Ancient returned to him, gathering up the pile of his weapons and shoving them into a sack.

“Now then,” she murmured, fastening the sack to her belt. She bent over him, and seized a handful of his hair once again. Pain sparked behind his eyes as she hauled him upright, until he was slumped against her glass-armored leg, held up by her fist in his hair. Across the tomb, Calvario stood watching them. The hunger in his eyes had become a blazing fire. At his feet, Raema stirred again, moaning softly.

 _No!_ Jole thought again, desperately, while Calvario uttered some thanks to the Ancient. _You can't just leave her here!_

“Come along,” Quarra said to him sweetly, as if he had a choice. Violet light glowed around them, quickly growing so bright that it obscured Raema and the vampire, and the tomb. There was the sickening twist in his stomach that always came with magical conveyance. When the light faded, the tomb was gone. In its place were rough-hewn plank walls, and darkness save for the lines of sunlight that filtered through the cracks in one wall.

Quarra dropped him unceremoniously; he flopped to the ground, landing hard enough on the back of his skull to see stars burst behind his eyes. She strode away, dragging the sack of weapons along. Jole took advantage of the moment to absorb details of their new location. He was unable to move his head, but from what he could see, they were in a tiny shack, one in disrepair. He could hear water outside, the slow lapping of waves against wood. There was an odor of fish mingled with the distinctive scent of the Bitter Coast. Hla Oad, then, or perhaps Gnaar Mok.

Quarra came back to him, boots thumping on the wooden floor. “Well, now,” she said with satisfaction, crouching beside him. “Here I am, with Jole Devan, the hunter of vampires, helpless as a baby... and me with nowhere to go for _hours_.” She slid a fingertip slowly down his cheek, along his throat. “Whatever shall I do to occupy my time?” She mused, the hungry light in her eyes growing brighter.

Jole glared up at her, hoping she did not see the fear behind them. He had been in fairly dire situations many times, but the feeling of _helplessness_ was always worse than anything else. The spell seemed to be wearing off, excruciatingly slowly, and he focused on that, hoping he would be able to move before she realized it had lapsed.

Quarra hooked her fingers into the collar of his shirt and jerked down sharply, tearing it open halfway down his chest. “Don't worry, hunter... I need you alive, for a while longer. I would hate for Assurjan to go forever wondering what happened to his Hand. You will walk out of this little hovel on your own two feet, and tell him yourself.” She planted her palm, cool and smooth, against his chest, and it glowed with magicka. Jole could almost feel the Burden spell binding him tighter, strengthening itself to cripple him further. “But not until well after dark,” she added with a smile. “I will be long gone before you can even think of coming after me. And until then...” Her hand slid back up to grasp his jaw in an iron grip, fingers bruising against his skin. The Ancient's eyes blazed, an echo of the fierce hunger he had seen in Calvario's.

It had been a long time since any vampire had fed from him. Helpless, Jole twitched and shuddered at the pain of it, struggling to send his thoughts anywhere else... but all he could think of was Raema, left unconscious and unarmed in Calvario's lair. _Vivec help me, Quarra, you have signed your own death writ for this..._

 


	9. Chapter 9

The slaves both knelt before him, the woman shaking fearfully, the man trying very hard not to look up at him. They knew why he had sent for them, of course. Though House Hlaalu had been fulfilling their end of the agreement and providing Juraene clan with new slaves, the cattle had been dwindling as a result of his failed spellcasting attempts. By now, all of them knew that a summons to the Ancient's chamber was a death sentence. Some of them welcomed it, seeing it as an escape, of sorts... but no matter how eager they were to die, they all feared him.

Frowning, Assurjan stared down at the trembling woman. She was almost painfully thin, her ragged clothes hanging loosely on her frame. Scrapes and sores marred her skin. _Don't ask me to send any more slaves to their deaths,_ Raema had begged him. A wave of weary frustration swept over him, and he shut his book with such force that the bottles on his worktable jumped and clinked. The slaves jumped as well, risking startled glances up at him.

He reached out a hand, but the Breton man made no move towards it. He did not need to; the Ancient fed from a distance, eyes narrowing as he drew on the man's strength. He had little to give, and Assurjan took only a trickle, the equivalent of a mouthful of blood. Still, it made the slave groan and shake.

As he absorbed it, gritting his teeth, Assurjan _changed_ his spell, a twist of the magicka that he still could not manage as deftly as he wished. The flow of power redirected, shifting from him towards the other slave in an undulating stream that only he could see. It _should_ have strengthened her, at least a little. But he could see it weakening her, could feel her life oozing away, just as all the others' had. Biting back a curse, he released the spell before it went too far.

Gasping, the woman dropped forward, barely catching herself with her hands on the floor. The man wavered on his knees, struggling to stay upright.

 _Perhaps.... if I..._ The tantalizing hint of an idea was just beyond his mind-- but he couldn't _think_ with them there.

“You are dismissed,” Assurjan said. The woman stared up at him stupidly, blinking.

“Go!” He snapped. Her eyes widened, and they both scrambled for the door, closing it hurriedly behind them.

Assurjan stared at the door after they'd gone, not seeing it. He thought of Raema, as a vampire-- that image still pained him. But she had fed from him, and it had made her so much stronger.

 _Is that the answer? I know, now, that draining one mortal cannot heal another. But what of vampires?_ Vampires could not _give_ their own strength to another, but perhaps instead... He frowned down at his hands, thinking back to the slave that Raema had brought him, the one that he had killed. That one, Assurjan had attempted to heal directly from his own well of strength, and it had worked, though the overflow had killed the man.

With a jolt, he realized what he needed to try. _Mortals cannot heal_ themselves _this way. But vampires feed on others to heal ourselves... perhaps that ability makes us more suited to healing each other in the same manner. I am wasting my time with the slaves. It will have to be vampires._ He allowed himself a tiny smile. _Raema will be pleased, at that._

Raema. He'd had little patience for his work since she and the Redguard had left the day before. He had to admit, he missed her. He had hoped that her absence for a few days would prepare him to let her go. But she had been gone for two days, and he could think of nothing but her, do nothing but worry for her. _If I set her free,_ he thought, _it will not get any easier._

 _What would she do,_ he wondered, _if I let her go?_ Would she remain on Vvardenfell, make a new life for herself on the island? Would he hear news of her, sometimes?  
Would she join forces with the hunter, and come for him, one day?

A knock at the door cut through his reverie. “My lord?” Came Talintus' muffled voice.

Assurjan got to his feet and opened the door himself. The Imperial vampire looked surprised, but said only, “A visitor to see you, my lord. He's in your antechamber.” There was a shadow of worry in the vampire's expression, and a sudden sense of foreboding tightened around Assurjan's heart. Without waiting for him to finish, he brushed past Talintus, striding down the hall to the antechamber.

The Redguard was there, nervously drumming the fingers of one hand on the hilt of a knife at his belt. It was a poor weapon, not one that Assurjan remembered him carrying, and it was the only one he bore. His other hand was bandaged and bloody, as was the torn collar of his shirt.

He was alone.

Assurjan stopped in the doorway, staring at the hunter. “Where is she?”

A pained look came over the Redguard's face. “She... she was taken. It was--”

Assurjan was across the room before he realized it, shoving the hunter back against his bookshelves, one forearm across his throat. Books fell, and a bottle on the top shelf crashed to the floor in a spray of water and pottery shards. “ _Where?”_

Instincts warned him to watch the hunter's hands, but the Redguard made no move for his weapon. “In Nerano,” he said hoarsely, raising his chin away from Assurjan's forearm. “Volrina Quarra is still alive. She was waiting for us there, took us both by surprise.”

“And how is it,” Assurjan hissed, “that you are here, and she is not?”

For the first time, the hunter acknowledged the fact that he was being threatened by the vampire. “Let me go, Ancient, and I'll explain it.”

Eyes narrowing, Assurjan glared at him for a long moment, struggling to gain control over the urge to tear out the man's throat. _I need to know_ , he told himself, and managed to step back, letting his hands drop to his sides.

The Redguard rubbed ruefully at his throat. Watching him, Assurjan noted the fang-marks that lined his neck; both sides of his throat were dark with bruises and punctures, up and down the thick veins. He had taken no time to heal himself before coming to Telasero; perhaps that meant there was still time.

“Quarra was waiting for us when we entered the tomb; she knew we were coming. Neither of us expected to get hit with a spell the instant we came through the door. She took me with her, Recalled to Hla Oad. She... she left Raema with Calvario. She told him...” he paused, reluctant.

“What?” Talintus demanded.

Jole did not spare him a glance, watching Assurjan instead. “She told him not to let her escape. And she told me... she _wanted_ you to know that Calvario has your Hand.”

“It's a trap, my lord,” Talintus said flatly.

“Of course it is,” Jole snapped. “But if Quarra is there with Raema, you are the only one who has a chance against her, Ancient.”

Assurjan gritted his teeth. _Raema..._ “Fetch my weapons,” he said to Talintus. The Imperial nodded and hurried away, back to the bedchamber.

“Let me go with you,” the hunter said. “I can help. If you can't get there by sunrise--”

“You have already lost her,” Assurjan said tightly. “You will leave the stronghold when I do, hunter, and you will go in the opposite direction.”

The Redguard pressed his lips together, unhappy. “At the very least, you might need someone to handle Calvario while you and Quarra--”

“Get out,” Assurjan said, his voice deathly calm.

The hunter fell silent, frowning at the Ancient. Talintus returned with an armful of weapons and other items. Assurjan beckoned him closer, and turned to glare at Jole. “ _Get. Out.”_

The Redguard scowled fiercely, staring him down for a long moment. "If you don't save her, Ancient, I am coming for you next," he snarled, turning away.

Engrossed in buckling the Ancient's sword in place over his cloak, Talintus waited until the door closed behind the hunter. “This _is_ a trap, my lord. Quarra wants nothing more than to lure you out, alone, away from the safety of the stronghold and the clan. And the Redguard must be in on it.”

“I know it,” Assurjan snarled, though he was not so sure about the hunter. The man had seemed in earnest, and the bite marks on his skin were real enough. “It is a good trap, and I can do nothing but walk into it as prepared as possible.”

"Take some of us with you, at least, my lord. The Redguard was right, you should have backup."

Assurjan shook his head. "I must move quickly. More quickly than anyone in the clan can manage. You are in command until the Hand or I return."

Talintus stepped back, shaking his head sadly. “Be careful, my lord.”

The Ancient gave him a curt nod, then left the room, cloak swirling about him.

* * *

She commanded him as if he were a beast... and, like an animal, he obeyed, with the taste of her blood still lingering on his tongue. _You know what I want. Go, and remember: if you fail me, you fail your followers, Irarak._

Leaden feet drew him closer to the wide, squat shape of the stronghold. It was a clear night, and the moonlight gleamed on the stones, making them look slick and wet. A vision flickered in his eyes, the sight of the stronghold soaked with blood in the moonlight. A moment later, it passed, but he shuddered. _Gods forgive me for what I am about to do_ , he thought, but it was a hollow prayer. He was beyond forgiveness, he knew... The only thing he could do, all he could ever do, was try to save his own people.

He climbed the stairs to the flat expanse of the stronghold's rooftop, encountering no one. Just inside the entrance, he passed two young bloods who let him enter without comment, nodding respectfully. All of Juraene clan knew him by sight as Assurjan's ally, and the thought made his lip twist bitterly as he moved deeper into the fortress.

The door to the Ancient's chambers stood open, and he frowned. Inside, the normally neat library was somewhat in disarray. Books had been knocked from the shelves, and a wet mess of broken pottery was scattered across one of the rugs. Talintus, Assurjan's lieutenant, was overseeing a few of the cattle who were straightening up the room. The Imperial looked up as Irarak entered.

“Good evening,” he said gruffly. “The Ancient is not here, Irarak; we've had some... trouble. He'll be back in a night or two.”

“Indeed?” Irarak asked, feigning ignorance. “What sort of trouble?”

Talintus' jaw tightened, but he said only, “It's the Ancient's concern. I'll tell him you were looking for him.”

“Of course,” Irarak said smoothly. “I didn't really need to speak with him; I actually came to get something I left in his chamber on my last visit. If I may...?”

Talintus grunted, nodding toward the Ancient's bedchamber. Hiding a grimace, Irarak turned down the short hall to the other room. If he could just grab it and get out, without any complications...

He had never seen the Ancient's bedchamber; luckily, Talintus had no way of knowing that. Assurjan's room was much as he had imagined it would be, however: a few shelves, an unused bed, and the large worktable that was the room's main focus. The table was piled high with papers, books, soul gems, and alchemical items; Irarak avoided it, hoping the object of his visit was not buried among that mess.

The first shelf he searched did not have it, nor did the second. He was beginning to worry when he finally found it on the last shelf, tucked behind a copy of _The Art of War Magic_. Muttering a quick thanks to whichever god had not yet abandoned him, he turned to go.

“I think you'd better put that back, Berne,” Talintus said sternly, making Irarak jump. The other vampire had been standing behind him in the doorway, watching for Vivec knew how long. His hand rested on his sword-hilt, ready. “I know bloody well that you didn't leave  _that_  here before.”

Irarak licked his lips. There was nothing he could say that would not sound like a feeble excuse.

“No,” he agreed, only half-thinking about what he was saying. “I suppose it's not.” Hardly a witty reply, but he was too distracted with wondering how he would get out of this. The only way he could see was so far out of his normal experience that he almost rejected it outright, before he remembered his newfound strength. _Do it_ , a voice inside his head urged him. _Why else have you been drinking her blood all this time?_

Talintus' eyes narrowed, and he took a step closer, hand tightening on his sword. “Well?”

Irarak glanced down, as if to draw the item back out from his pocket. Then he raised his eyes, just enough to see the other vampire. “I'm sorry,” he murmured. With the full force that he had gained from Quarra's blood, he struck the Imperial, square in the chest, with his fist.

Talintus had not been expecting a strike; he was even less prepared for the strength behind it, and so was Irarak. He knew his own limitations-- or he _had--_ and any fighter of Talintus' caliber would have made it his business to know as well. But that fist slammed into the man's cuirass hard enough to dent it, and sent him reeling back. Stunned, the vampire caught his balance and looked up at Irarak, shock and fury lighting twin fires in his eyes. Irarak was already closing the distance between them; as Talintus tried to draw his sword, Irarak struck him again. He could feel bones shattering under his knuckles, and Talintus staggered another step, blood streaming from his nose. One more blow, in an arc that brought fist to temple, and Talintus was dropping to his knees, sword still half-sheathed. Irarak caught him with a hand around his throat, drawing out the last of his strength as he died.

“I'm sorry,” Irarak whispered again, lowering the corpse to the ground. Gods, it had been so _fast!_ He had never had that sort of speed before. He eased Talintus to the floor and closed the other vampire's staring eyes. _Don't slow down now_ , he thought, rising to his feet. Quarra was waiting.

He left the chamber, wishing he could lock the door behind him. With luck, there would be no one else who dared enter the Ancient's rooms in his absence. The antechamber was empty, restored to its usual neatness, the slaves gone. Rubbing at Talintus' blood on his knuckles, he left the stronghold as quickly as he dared.

Outside again, he saw no other vampires. Glancing over his shoulder, he ducked into the Propylon Chamber.

His shadow flickered wildly against the walls in the fluctuating light of the propylon links. With the Index for the stronghold of Marandus in his hand, he stepped into the swirling red flares--

\--And stepped out again in what was almost the exact same room... save for Volrina Quarra standing there, glass armor glimmering eerily. Several of her House Hlaalu fighters were there, too, waiting with grim faces.

She raised an eyebrow, holding out one hand. Irarak reached out and laid the Index to Telasero in her waiting palm.

“One saw me take it, my lady,” he informed her, in a low voice. “I killed him. No one else suspects, but they may find his body.”

A smile spread across Volrina Quarra's face as she held the Index up to the light. “No matter,” she said, absently. The Index appeared to pass her inspection; she closed her fist around it and nodded sharply to the armored Dunmer at her side. The Hlaalu fighters went to the door, and began ushering in more of their own from outside.

“Well done, Irarak,” Quarra praised him, while the Hlaalu crowded onto the platform in the propylon links' light, awaiting the Index. “I regret that time does not permit, now... but I promise you a reward, when the fighting is over.”

He knew what sort of reward she meant. More of her blood, the liquid power that he had come to crave from her veins. The thought of it, more of the power that he had used to crush Talintus so easily, both sickened him and stirred his hunger. She saw the glow beginning in his eyes, and her smile widened. “Coming?” she asked, gesturing toward her fighters.

Irarak swallowed, hard. “Not yet, my lady. If it pleases you, I will come with the last group.”

She raised an eyebrow, and he wondered if she suspected what he was going to do. If so, she did not seem overly concerned about it. “Don't take too long,” she advised him over her shoulder, as she moved to the platform. “I would hate for you to miss all the fun.” She handed the Index to the Dunmer woman, and stepped into the link, while the Hlaalu practically stood on each others' toes to clear a space for her.

The Dunmer woman shot Irarak a quick, measuring glance, then stepped up next to Quarra. Immediately the entire group winked out as quickly as if they had never been there. The other Hlaalu began to mutter to themselves. Moments later, the Dunmer woman appeared again, alone, and directed others to step up.

 _Get moving_ , Irarak thought to himself, and pushed past the crowd of Hlaalu toward the exit. He knew what he had to do next, knew _why..._ but he was even less willing to do it than anything else he'd had to do recently.

* * *

The night flew past him, a blur of darkness and darker shadows. _Volrina Quarra has my Hand._ The thought repeated in his mind, over and over, no matter how hard he tried to silence it.

If he kept this pace, he would reach Nerano tomb before dawn. Assurjan regretted not taking the time to feed before he left; if he had, he would have more strength to deal with Quarra. But if he had waited to feed first, time would have been lost... time that he did not care to waste when he could be en route to his Hand instead.

The words repeated in his mind, over and over, but the alternative was images of Raema in his enemies' hands, and that was far worse. _Volrina Quarra has my Hand,_ he thought, furiously, over and over, and tried not to dwell on the images that it suggested.

He was near the edge of Molag Amur when he sensed the approaching vampire. _Irarak_ , he thought, recognizing the Berne vampire's presence. There was something odd, though, something out of place. _No matter_ , he thought. His ally was likely returning from a hunt, and there was no time to stop and converse. He made no effort to divert his course toward the other vampire, and put the approaching presence out of his mind.

Minutes later, though, he could no longer ignore it; Irarak was coming closer, as if hoping to intercept him. Assurjan continued on his course, and as the volcanic rock gave way to Grazeland grass, he saw the vampire standing in the moonlight, waiting for him.

“I cannot stop, Irarak,” the Ancient told him as he came closer.

To his surprise, the other vampire reached out and caught his arm as he made to pass him. “My lord--”

Something in his voice, something broken and worried, made Assurjan stop reluctantly. “What is it? Be quick, Irarak. My Hand is in danger.”

Irarak let him go. “I know, my lord. And it is a trap, but perhaps not the one you think it is.”

Assurjan's undead heart lurched at the words, and he went still, waiting.

The other vampire took a deep, unnecessary breath. “Raema is only bait to lure you away from the clan, my lord. Volrina Quarra is leading a force to assault Telasero; they may have begun already. By dawn, there will be nothing left.”

The darkness reeled around him. _My clan. My people..._

“How do you know this, Irarak?” His voice came out low and deadly serious, but the other vampire did not flinch... only regarded him sadly.

“I am sorry, my lord. She... she has my vampires. I acted only to save them. You might still be able to save your clan, Assurjan. _Or_ Raema... but I do not think you can save both.”

Fury was a sudden, white-hot flare in his chest, filling him until he could feel it seething under his skin. For a moment, he was so consumed by the effort of _not_ burning Irarak to ashes that he could not speak.

“Why are you telling me this? Have you had a change of heart?” he snarled, when he found his voice. “Now, when it is too late?”

Irarak pressed his lips together. “You have been a friend, Assurjan, and you do not deserve my betrayal. At the very least, I felt you deserved a choice in your people's fate-- a choice I was not given.”

Assurjan stared at his old friend, jaw clenched so tightly that it ached. Irarak was the one person he had known since life, since before being turned... the one person outside the clan he had felt he could trust. _No longer._

“I know you will not forgive me, Assurjan,” Irarak said, as if to fill the silence. “But I hope you can understand that I only did what I had to... it is no less than what you would have done in my place.”

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Assurjan knew he was right... but it was buried far, far beneath the dire reality. When he spoke, his voice was cold and hard, echoing faintly with a hunger that was fueled by fury. “If I ever lay eyes on you again, Berne, I will destroy you.”

Irarak's eyelids flickered. “I deserve it,” he said quietly. “But you may not find it as easy as you expect, Ancient.” Light flared briefly, a Recall spell with more power than Assurjan had ever seen in him, and then Irarak was gone.

Left alone on the edge of the Grazelands, Assurjan stood for a long time, still as stone, while his mind raced. Telasero called to him. His people were in danger, and they looked to him for protection. They were his blood, descended from himself or from vampires he had turned, and their loyalty had always been based on the understanding that he would keep them safe-- whether from rival clans, vampire hunters, or any other threat.

But Raema....

She had never _asked_ to become his Hand. How much of a choice had he offered her? To serve him, as his Hand or his cattle... that was no choice at all. And now she was a captive of Calvario, and he had no illusions as to what the vampire would do to her-- if he had not killed her already. If he returned to Telasero, if he were able to save his people, would he be able to live with the knowledge that Raema had perished without his aid?

 _Gods help me,_ he thought, with more sincerity in the half-prayer than he had ever felt _. I am damned to Oblivion, no matter what I decide._ Clenching his fists, he raised his head, and made his choice.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Chills wracked her, crippling shakes that raised gooseflesh on her skin and made her muscles ache... and then it was the fever, burning her from the inside out, leaving her gasping for air. Back and forth it went, until Raema hardly knew whether she were hot or cold, whether to long for a blanket or be glad she was naked.

She had tried to fight, Vivec knew. She had first awoken with the pain of a bite already stiffening her neck, and a gleam in the vampire's eyes that said he was hardly finished. She'd been groggy, still, from Volrina Quarra's spells, but she was lucid enough to know when Calvario came at her again. She had kicked at him, caught him square in the stomach; managed to nearly break her hand on his cheek, too, making his eye swell up and grow satisfyingly bruised. But it had been simple enough for him to flip her over and bind her wrists and ankles, and there was nothing to stop him then. Luckily, she had faded back to unconsciousness before he was done.

The next time, she had had time to prepare. She had lost a lot of blood, she knew, and it was difficult to concentrate, but she managed, her focus born of desperation. When he came back for more, his black eye already healed away by feeding on her blood, she was ready. Fire bloomed across his face, making him howl; he hadn't expected sorcery from her. Assurjan would have been proud, she thought foggily, if he had seen it. But she could manage no more than that, just enough to anger Calvario. It earned her a cuff across the face, shooting bright pains through her head, and a warning that any more spells would bring worse. And, undeterred, he had taken from her again, and his burned face had been restored to normal when he had finished.

“You needn't keep struggling, you know,” Calvario said from across the tomb, making her start. She was trying so hard to stay awake, knowing that she might not wake up again if sleep claimed her... but gods, it was hard. “All the cattle do that at first... but they learn soon enough. You might as well become used to it. I'd forgotten how convenient it is to have one at my disposal.” The Imperial smiled, an ugly display of his fangs.. “Especially a pretty little one like you. It would almost be a shame to drain you, Bosmer.... except that I'll enjoy it so much.”

Lying on her side, glaring at him, Raema licked dry lips. _Oblivion take you, you bloody buggering s'wit_ , she wanted to say, but she did not think she had the strength to spare on voicing insults. Her right arm was numb, trapped under her own weight, and it was a struggle to remain conscious. How long had it been since she and Jole had burst through that door? A day, two? She no longer had the ability to sense daylight like the vampires. A week might have passed, for all she knew.

Calvario got to his feet and approached her, eyes glittering. _No,_ Raema thought, and clenched her jaws to keep it from escaping in a moan. He crouched beside her, eyes roaming her body. She swallowed hard, glaring up at him. She had been here before, a helpless slave, bound and unable to fight back; it was a fear both old and familiar. _I am not scared of you, n'wah_ , she thought, glaring up as if daring him to touch her again. It was a lie, but she knew from experience that she could almost believe it if she told herself often enough.

He still had that ugly smile; it was becoming familiar to her. One hand, cool as a corpse's, stroked her neck, tracing the constellation of fang marks that lined her throat. She gritted her teeth as his fingers moved lower, finding the bite mark he had left on her breast. That one had not been for blood, but he _had_ fed from the bite on her inner thigh, and his fingers found that one next, while his smile widened.

 _Don't squirm_ , she told herself desperately, as his fingers probed cruelly between her legs. _That's what he wants to see. Don't give him that, at least._

“That's better,” he murmured, in an layered, echoing voice. “Much better.” Hand still working, he lowered his head, baring fangs.

 _A little closer_ , she thought, watching him go for her throat. _Now--._ She lunged upward, sinking her own teeth into his neck before he could do the same. She had not forgotten how to bite like a vampire, and even without fangs, she tasted blood. _My own blood he's consumed,_ she realized, and the thought only made her bite harder.

Calvario bellowed furiously and reared upright; Raema rose with him, clenching her teeth with all her strength, hanging onto his neck like a maddened beast. He seized her throat with both hands and slammed her to the ground. Lights burst inside her skull as her head hit the floor, and she choked, mouth full of blood, the vampire's hands on her windpipe. There was something between her teeth; when her vision cleared, she saw that Calvario was missing a chunk of flesh from his throat.

“Bloody s'wit,” he snarled. Raema spat; blood splattered across his face. “You're beginning to make me angry, Bosmer.”

Her vision was sparkling into darkness, with her air cut off. Abruptly, he shifted, flipping her deftly onto her stomach and straddling her waist. With one hand he pressed against the side of her head, effortlessly pinning her to the floor; with his other hand, he ran his fingers roughly down her spine. “Paralysis spells are all very well,” he hissed. “But they wear off eventually. All I need to do is bite, right here--” he pressed a thumb between her shoulder blades, leaning on it until she cried out. “--and it will be permanent. Is that what I need to do to make you behave, Bosmer?”

 _Gods_... she didn't think an injury that severe could be helped by any healer. To be trapped here was bad enough. To be unable to escape, unable to _move_ , forever? _Gods, no!_

“Well?” He asked, pressing harder. “Is this what you want?”

“No,” she gasped. Mercifully, he eased up, removed his hands; she heard him unbuckling his trousers. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she squeezed them shut, swallowing hard as she felt him moving over her.

Something flickered at the edge of her mind, and it took her a moment to recognize it. When she did, she nearly sobbed with joy. _Assurjan!_ If she was able to sense him, he was close, very close-- perhaps he was even inside the tomb already. _Please..._

Calvario froze; he had felt the Ancient approaching as well. Muttering a curse, he began to rise to his feet, just as the door to the tomb's inner chamber crashed open.

Assurjan flowed into the room like death itself, sword raised in one hand, magicka sparking brightly in the other. It was over in moments, or perhaps Raema fell unconscious again; it was difficult to tell which. It seemed as if she merely blinked, and Calvario was on the ground, a charred, shriveled heap of flesh, as if Assurjan had unleashed several spells at once in his fury.

Then the Ancient was kneeling at her side, dropping his sword to the floor with a clang. “Raema...” he breathed, and the emotion in his voice made her breath catch in her throat. He freed her hands, and gently rolled her onto her back.

“Oh, gods, Assurjan!” She gasped, struggling to sit up. He slipped an arm under her shoulders to lift her, and she clung to him desperately, the tears finally escaping. He held her tightly, one hand stroking her hair while she shuddered. “Assurjan, I--”

“Hush,” he interrupted her. “Raema, we must leave this place. Quarra may still come back for us both. Can you walk?”

She shook her head, and made herself lean back enough to look at him. The chills were coming back, or perhaps the stress was finally catching up with her. She was trembling all over. “I don't think so,” she said, teeth chattering.

He gazed at her, pale eyes deeper with emotion than she could remember ever seeing. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then only nodded instead. Easing her down carefully, he shrugged out of his cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. She saw him glance at the bites that marked her, and his face darkened, but he said nothing. After untying her ankles, he sheathed his sword and then lifted her effortlessly in his arms, holding her close.

Feet dangling, Raema wrapped her arms around his neck. He was solid, truly there, and she clung to him, half afraid that he would disappear if she let him go.

“Your weapons?” He asked, glancing around the tomb.

Raema shook her head. “Quarra took them.”

She felt him tense around her; a muscle twitched along his jaw. He made for the door, leaving Calvario's decimated corpse where it had fallen. Shuddering, Raema shut her eyes as they left.

Outside, the air was humid, and cool with the chill of pre-dawn. The sky was still dark, but the birds of the Grazelands had already begun their early morning chorus. Assurjan covered ground with a hurried efficiency, striding south and east. Still shivering in his arms, Raema struggled to keep awake, knowing that the danger of blood loss had not yet passed. If she drifted off now, she still might not awaken.

They sped through the darkness, racing the dawn. With a start, Raema realized that the sky was brightening; she could not remember seeing the land race by, but they were out of the Grazelands now. Dawn continued to creep closer, illuminating the eastern horizon with a diffuse glow, and she began to grow nervous. If they didn't find shelter soon...

To her relief, they rounded a hill moments later and came upon an Ashlander yurt, nestled by itself among the rocks. Assurjan halted, watching the little encampment; there were no signs of life, and the firepit was cold.

He crouched and set her on the ground. “Wait here,” he breathed, almost soundlessly. She nodded, but he was already gone, slipping through the shadows to investigate.

 _Wake up_ , Raema told herself, glancing around nervously. She wished Assurjan had left her a weapon, though she was not at all confident she could use one if she had it. Grimacing, she struggled to her feet; it took a long time to get upright, and she had to cling to a nearby stone as a wave of nausea seized her. _Just let us find shelter for the day,_ she thought foggily, too desperate to worry much about the Ashlanders who owned the yurt. _We only need a place to rest._

In the grey light, she saw Assurjan's silhouette duck out of the yurt and come back to her. “It appears abandoned,” he said in a low voice. “It will be safe enough.”

Raema pushed herself away from the rocks, managing two steps before blackness swamped over her vision. Lightheaded, she staggered, and Assurjan caught her arms to steady her.

“I can make it,” she mumbled stubbornly. Without a word, Assurjan swept her into his arms once more. Raema opened her mouth to protest, and found herself leaning her head on his shoulder instead.

She caught only glimpses of the yurt: round walls of hide, baskets hanging from the low ceiling, a lighted candle on a table. Assurjan set her gently on a bedroll, then stepped away. She heard rustling noises, as if he were rifling through the contents of the yurt. Gods, it would feel so good just to close her eyes, to rest...

“Not yet, Raema,” came his voice, jerking her back from the edge of sleep. She mumbled an incoherent protest and turned her head away.

Cool, strong fingers were laid against her cheek, turning her back to face him. “Raema,” he said sharply. “You cannot sleep yet. Open your eyes.”

There was an urgency in his voice that she knew she should understand, but her eyelids felt so heavy... it could hardly be worth the effort to lift them, could it? But it was Assurjan, and surely she could manage to do such a little thing for his sake. She felt him lift her up to a sitting position, and she managed to pry her eyelids open.

His eyes were pale and worried as they swam into focus. He was holding a glass bottle up to her lips; she had no idea where it had come from. “Drink.”

She _was_ thirsty, she realized, swallowing around a dry lump in her throat. She let him tip the bottle up against her lips, and drank. The potion tasted sickly sweet; whatever it was had begun to spoil, but he held it there until she had finished it. Warmth began to spread through her; not the unnatural fever-heat of before, but a genuine warmth that dispelled her chills. The dull aches of the bites on her body eased a bit, and she no longer felt so nauseous.

He took the empty bottle away and eased her down onto her back. “Now you may sleep,” he murmured.

 _Don't leave_ , she wanted to say, but the darkness claimed her first.

* * *

She slept like the dead; several times he went closer, just to make certain she was still breathing. The healing potion he'd found had helped, fading away some of the bruises that marred her skin, but fury at Quarra and Calvario still made his teeth clench when he looked at her. She was deathly pale with the loss of blood, and fang marks still lined the veins along her slender throat. There were more elsewhere, he knew, and he clenched his fists until they ached, thinking of what else Calvario had done to his Hand. He almost wished he had not destroyed the other vampire so quickly. The undead scum deserved a much slower, more painful death for what he had done.

 _That will be reserved for Volrina Quarra_ , he told himself, settling down cross-legged where he could watch both Raema and the yurt's entrance. _She will pay for what she has done to my Hand, and to my clan._

Thoughts of Juraene clan hurt nearly as much as thoughts of Raema. For the first time, he allowed himself to think about Irarak's betrayal. It was well past dawn, now; he wondered if Quarra was still at Telasero. He did not allow himself to hope that she had been defeated. His clan had had no warning, no time to prepare.

No Ancient to protect them.

He gritted his teeth. In any case, there was nothing he could do but wait out the daylight. If Quarra was still in his stronghold, she would be trapped there until nightfall, unless she Recalled out... something he wished he had taken the time to prepare for himself before he'd left. In either case, she would be long gone by the time he and Raema returned. She, and his clan, and everything he had worked so hard to build for his vampires would be gone.

He realized his lip had curled into a snarl, and he made himself take a deep breath, searching for calm. It would be dealt with, one way or another. He glanced at Raema, hoping the sight of her, deeply asleep, would help settle his agitation.

Almost at the same instant, she lurched in her sleep, head tossing restlessly. “No,” she gasped out, still sleeping. Assurjan pressed his lips together, once again facing the choice to wake her from her nightmares. She needed to rest... but how much rest could she get, with dreams like that?

“No... please,” she said, and the broken entreaty in her voice made his heart constrict. Was she reliving Calvario's torture? Or--

She cried out his name, desperate, and he was on his feet immediately, unable to resist that plea. He knelt beside her, murmuring her name, brushing her disheveled hair from her eyes. She jerked awake at the touch, staring up at him with dark, unfocused eyes.

“It is all right,” he said softly. Distantly, he cringed at the thought that she might have been dreaming of him, only to awaken with him looming over her. “Go back to sleep, Raema.”

“You saved me,” she murmured, sounding half-surprised, and half-asleep. He wasn't sure if she meant from her dream, or from Calvario. Perhaps both.

 _Not soon enough_ , he thought, stroking her hair. “I am here,” he managed to say. “Sleep, Raema.”

She gave him a drowsy smile, and closed her eyes once more. In moments her breathing had eased back into the steady rhythm of deep sleep. His cloak that he had wrapped around her had slipped; he covered her again, and stayed at her side to wait out the daylight.

* * *

Everything had finished by the time Irarak arrived. That was some relief, at least; he would not have to watch Assurjan's people be killed, or see the betrayal in their eyes when they looked at him.

Seeing it in Assurjan's eyes had already been too difficult.

Slowly, Irarak climbed the steps of Telasero, skirting around several corpses that he did not stop to inspect. Atop the stronghold, Hlaalu fighters were working by torchlight, tending their wounded or carrying items out of the fortress. A few started when they saw him, hands straying towards weapons, until they recognized him as Quarra's pet, and turned back to their work.

 _Not a threat,_ Irarak snarled in his head, lip twisting. _A danger only to the ones I_ don't _wish to hurt._ He shoved past a pair of armored Nords and entered the stronghold.

It stank of violence, as if the air retained the screams and the fighting as a scent. The sensation overwhelmed even the true scent of spilled blood. He made for Assurjan's chambers, knowing he would find her there.

The library was in total disarray, all Assurjan's carefully collected books spilled across the floor, trod upon. Some lay in pools of blood, their pages soaking it up. Irarak stepped carefully over them. He found Volrina Quarra in Assurjan's bedchamber, rummaging carelessly through the Juraene Ancient's desk. The Imperial, Talintus, still lay where Irarak had left him hours earlier.

"There you are!" She exclaimed, shoving aside a stack of papers to reveal a soul gem, which she tucked into a bag on the desk. She gave him a fiercely wicked smile; there was a smudge of blood at one corner of her mouth. And more, drying dully on her glass armor. "You missed the best part."

Irarak stopped in the doorway, and spread his hands in a vague apology. "I am not a fighter, my lady. I would only have been in the way."

By way of reply, the Ancient gave a derisive snort and returned to her search of the desk.

Irarak glanced around the room. He was suddenly acutely conscious of Raema's makeshift bed, in the hallway behind him. He hoped she was alright.

"I almost forgot," Quarra said casually, turning towards him again. She tossed him a key, and he caught it reflexively, even as his mind flinched, remembering the last time she had thrown him something.

"A reward for your hard work. That is the key to the Alen tomb. You'll find one of your vampires there. Saril, or something similar...?"

 _Sarvil,_ he thought, closing his fist around the key. "And the others?"

"Ah," she said, as if surprised he would ask. "It seems they somehow got caught up in the confusion of the battle. A pity you weren't here earlier, you might have seen them. If any survived, they will be prisoners of the Hlaalu."

 _"What?_ " It came out strangled.

Quarra's smile vanished. "You might have ruined all of it," she said, frighteningly calmly. "Be glad that Assurjan did not heed your warning. If he had, your people would be dead-- just as thoroughly as the Juraene, I promise you-- rather than captured."

 _She knew._ "How did you..." The triumphant look on her face made him realize his error. She had only guessed, and he'd just confirmed it.

"Be very grateful that your vampires only changed hands-- rather than lost them," Quarra said darkly. "You have been very useful, Irarak, but I am not finished with you. Avoid making mistakes like that again, and I will convince the Hlaalu to let your people go. Otherwise... well, they hope to rid the island of _all_ vampires. Including yours."

Irarak stared at her, rage boiling at the edges of his vision. Gods, he wanted to strike her, to use his new strength and shatter every bone--

As if reading his thoughts, she smiled again. With a wave of her hand, a fearsome weight sank onto Irarak's shoulders. Grunting, he dropped to one knee, palms on the floor, straining to keep from flattening himself on the stone under the sorcerous weight.

"It takes more than a few weeks' feeding to rival an Ancient, Irarak," Quarra said softly, her boots clinking on the stone floor. He could not lift his head. In his limited field of vision, he could see her from the knees down. She dropped into a chair, facing him. "Do you think you are strong enough to beat me already?"

Hissing through his teeth, Irarak rolled his eyes upward to see her leaning her elbows on her knees, watching him intently. She was no longer smiling.

"Just a bit more," she murmured, her fingers beginning to glow with another spell, "and I could crush you to the floor. I suggest you avoid making rash decisions, Irarak."

His neck cramping under the strain of meeting her eyes, Irarak glared at her, and silence stretched for another long minute before she dissolved the Burden spell. He grimaced as the weight disappeared, leaving him feeling weak and unbalanced.

Quarra began unbuckling her bracer. "You may as well feed. After all, we _have_ an agreement, don't we." It was not a question.

"No," Irarak forced out, though his hunger was already rising. It fractured the word into layers, giving the lie to his refusal. Gods, he wanted to drink! Not her blood, but the power that came with it, that raced through his own veins whenever he took it. The power to equal her, someday, and indulge that vision of destroying her.

Quarra raised her eyebrows. "You will refuse me? I think that unwise, Irarak. If you break our agreement, there is no telling what I might do in turn. Or who I might ask the Hlaalu to execute first."

Irarak remained on his knees, knowing what he must choose and unwilling to do it. It was not truly a choice, but he hesitated anyway, wishing he could simply say _No_ to the Ancient.

But that was why she insisted, of course. She couldn't allow him to begin saying _no_.

"Fine," he snarled, and rose to his feet.

Quarra held up one finger, laughing softly. There was no humor in it. "I did not tell you to stand, Irarak."

He stared at her. "I will not crawl for you, my lady."

"Not for me," she said sweetly. "Do it for Tredere, and anyone else you hope to see alive again."

Gods, how easily she could manipulate him! Irarak swallowed harshly, while she watched with glittering eyes. He clenched his fists; he would be damned to Oblivion before he used his hands. His robe dragged through dust and drying blood as he shuffled across the floor, upright on his knees. She watched him the whole time, returning his glare with a coolly blank expression.

Only when he stopped at her feet and lowered his eyes did she offer him her wrist. He seized it in a crushing grip, feeling her bones grinding under his hand. She didn't flinch.

"Someday, _my lady_ , you will regret giving me so much power," he hissed, before roughly sinking his teeth into her flesh. He did it messily, as if to tear out a mouthful; and he let a good bit of blood spill out from between his lips. _Let her know how much I think it's worth!_

Leaning over him, Quarra watched him feed, her eyes glinting.

* * *

Jole awoke with a headache like smith's hammers beating against his skull. Groaning, he rubbed at his eyes with one hand, and it took a long moment before he realized that half the pounding was the sound of someone knocking insistently at his door.

“Coming!” He shouted hoarsely, clambering to his feet. “Just stop pounding, for Vivec's sake!” Mercifully, the knocking stopped. He let out a sigh of relief as he lit the lantern.

Outside, in the bright morning sunlight, Dram Bero stood waiting and looking none too pleased about it. When he saw Jole, though, he frowned in concern. “What in the name of the Three happened to you?”

“I'm fine,” Jole grunted, squinting at him. “Come in, please, councilor.”

"I regret that I don't have the time. Come with me, if you please; I have something I need you to see." The councilor took a few steps away, as if expecting Jole to follow him right that moment.

Jole stared at him, annoyed. It was far too bright outside for his liking. And who did Bero think he was? "Give me a moment," he said, and shut the door on the Dunmer.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he frowned around the room he called home. Volrina Quarra had been careful not to leave any of his weapons behind when she finally left him alone in that fishing shack. He would have to make do with his spares, for now. It was the work of a few moments to retrieve them from the chest, strap them on and run a hand through his hair. When he stepped outside, squinting into the light that only intensified his headache, Dram Bero was still waiting, arms folded. Without a word, he strode away, beckoning to Jole. Grumbling to himself, the hunter hurried after him.

As they ducked into the waistworks, the bright sun ceased to pound against his eyeballs, and Jole let out a sigh of relief. Waking up after being vampire food was far worse than a morning after drinking too much schein.

When they were out of earshot from other citizens, Bero said in a low voice, "I'm glad I found you. We were trying to reach you for the last two days. Where have you been?"

 _Nearly getting myself killed. Losing my friend to one of the worst vampires I know. Feeding an Ancient til I had hardly any blood left in me,_ Jole thought sourly.

"Hunting."

Bero cast him a sideways glance, eying the bites on his neck. "I suppose it went less smoothly than usual?"

Jole shrugged. “I'm going to see a healer today. Why were you looking for me?”

The Dunmer didn't answer, only led Jole lower into the canton. Bero was taking him into the Underworks, it seemed, and a sense of foreboding began to creep into Jole's thoughts. He wrinkled his nose in the Underworks' sour air.

"I have to say, councilor, a less confident man might be worried for his safety, being dragged down here with no explanation, by a man he hardly knows."

The Hlaalu didn't spare him a glance. "This way; hurry." Bero turned off the walkway, wading into the shallow water that ran down a side tunnel.

It was quite obviously a dead end; Bero turned and crouched against the wall, beckoning Jole closer.

"You know, this isn't really helping your reputation as an eccentric," Jole remarked, crouching next to the Dunmer.

"Shut _up_ ," Bero hissed fiercely, grasping Jole's shoulder. With his free hand, he touched an amulet at his throat, and a disconcerting wave of nausea washed over Jole. An invisibility enchantment, he realized-- hardly the thing to spring on a man who was already sick. Swallowing back bile, he glared at the space where the Dunmer's head should have been, and--

\--Forgot to be angry, as a presence burst into his awareness, one that he had come to recognize all too well. _How_ _in the name of all the gods...?_

Slowly, carefully, he leaned forward to peer around the corner. Volrina Quarra was striding towards him, and his heart leapt into his throat as she seemed to look directly at him. As he reached for his blade, though, she turned aside, ducking into the shrine to Sheogorath that the Temple had never been able to shut down completely. She hadn't seen him.

Before he could move, a light flashed further down the walkway, bringing another vampire... another presence he could sense, too, but that was impossible, surely? He recognized the undead Dunmer. It was Assurjan's friend Irarak-- but the Berne vampire had never before been strong enough for Jole to sense him. Jole squinted at him, as the vampire followed Quarra into the shrine.

When it seemed that no one else was going to Recall into the Underworks, Jole eased back into the tunnel, and nearly fell over as the spell faded away.

"A little _warning_ would have been nice!" He snarled in a near-whisper, struggling to his feet through the dizziness. He grasped the hilt of his blade, very near to drawing it on the councilor "What if she'd seen me? Do you think I'm prepared to fight off an _Ancient_ with _this_ buggering thing?"

"It was just as dangerous for me," Bero said cryptically, and it seemed that was as close to an apology as he would give. " _That_ is why I was looking for you yesterday. I had hoped that, in the confusion of the battle, you could... take care of this problem for us."

Jole blinked, still feeling off-balance. "What battle?"

"Last night, Volrina Quarra led our forces in an attack on Juraene clan in Telasero. It went well; Juraene's Ancient was not there. Still, you would have been a great asset... especially if you could have gotten rid of Quarra for us."

Jole managed, just barely, not to gape. He reached out and braced a hand on the wall of the tunnel, as nonchalantly as he could. _Bloody Oblivion... Raema wasn't bait in a trap for Assurjan at all... not the way I thought._

"She _led_ you? I don't understand, councilor."

The Dunmer fixed him with deep red eyes. "While I agree that ridding the island of vampires will make the House look quite good, it will be nothing but scandal if word gets out that we are working _with_ another vampire to do it. I'll thank you to be discreet about this," he added, his stare intensifying.

Jole ignored it. "So you want me to get rid of her for you. I hope you are prepared to pay handsomely, councilor. This won't be easy."

"If it were easy, I'd do it myself." The Dunmer smiled, unexpectedly. "You need not worry on that account, Ser Devan. Now that the vampires' lands are ours, we will be able to pay _everyone_ handsomely."

 _I should have guessed,_ Jole thought. _No wonder they wanted Juraene clan out of the way. It's all about money, with the Hlaalu._

Bero glanced over his shoulder. "I must go speak with her," he said, reluctantly. "Afterward, I will be going to Balmora, to meet with the other councilors. I believe she will join us there soon; we have captives there, as well. I will hope to see you there, Ser Devan." With a final nod, he slipped away.

 _Balmora..._ _Hlormaren is just outside the village. I'd bet my knives that that's where they are. From one stronghold to another._ Jole wondered if the propylon chambers had had anything to do with Juraene's fall.

Wagering his knives was pointless, he remembered, as he scowled down at the second-rate hilt in his hand. _The weaponsmith first,_ he thought firmly. _Then the healer..._ And then, he would go to Telasero, and Balmora, to see what he could learn about the fate of Juraene clan. He owed Raema that much, at least.

Trying not to dwell too much on the thought that he didn't know whether his friend was even still alive, he made his way silently back to the upper levels of the city. _Assurjan will find her. She will be all right..._

 _And Quarra..._ A fierce, hungry grin spread across his face. The next time he faced her, he would not be taken by surprise.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Raema noticed the taste in her mouth, first; the metallic taste of old blood, under the spoiled-sweet taste of an old potion. Grimacing, she forced her eyes to open, and found herself staring up at a ceiling of cured guarhide, hung with bunches of dried plants. She sat up stiffly, groaning at the way her muscles protested the movement.

Once upright, she gave a start, realizing that Assurjan was sitting beside her, cross-legged and straight-backed, watching her.

“How do you feel?” He asked quietly.

She frowned, thinking about the question. She could not remember where they were, or how they had gotten there, or--

“Oh, gods...” she breathed, horrified, as it came back in a rush: Volrina Quarra, and Calvario, and his ugly smile, and his hands on her, his body weighing her down. She began to shudder uncontrollably, remembering what he had taken from her... blood, and more.

Assurjan reached for her, and she flinched away before she realized what she was doing. He froze; a hurt look flickered across his face and was gone in an instant. _No... Assurjan was there, he came for me._ The shock of that thought cut through her horror, and she thought it again, wonderingly. _Assurjan came to save me._

She threw her arms around his chest. He embraced her, and stroked her hair wordlessly while she shook with silent sobs.

When she had regained control, she lifted her head, gazing at him. He was watching her with a sad look in his eyes that reminded her of her nightmare... only this time the sadness was _for_ her. She swallowed and looked away awkwardly, unsure how to accept that emotion in his eyes.

“How did you know...” she asked, to fill the silence, and then another thought struck her like a lightning bolt. “Gods! Where's Jole?”

The Ancient seemed to be keeping his expression carefully blank. “The Redguard came to me after Quarra let him go. He told me what happened to the two of you.”

Raema frowned in confusion. “I don't remember what happened after she hit me,” she admitted. “I awoke, and Calvario--” her voice broke, and she stopped.

Assurjan explained what he knew in a low voice. “And there is more,” he added, after he recounted Jole's arrival at Telasero. “I had thought that Quarra took you to draw me into a trap... but the trap was for the clan. Irarak has betrayed me, and Quarra led a force to attack the stronghold in my absence.”

“What?” Raema exclaimed, sitting bolt upright.

Grimly, he explained what Irarak had told him the night before. “I do not know what we shall find when we return to Telasero,” he finished. “But I dare not hope for too much.”

Raema sat silently, still in shock over what he had told her. _He knew they were in danger,_ she thought, amazed. _And he still came for me. He left them behind, and came for me._ She was unsure how she felt about that. “I am sorry, my lord,” she whispered. “That you had to leave them--”

“I do not regret my choice,” he said, meeting her gaze evenly. “Do not dwell on it, Raema.”

She bit her lip, and nodded. Glancing toward the yurt's entrance, she could see the thin lines of sunlight that crept in around the tent flap. They were the rich, reddish-gold of early evening. “We should leave as soon night falls,” she suggested, and suddenly noticed that she still wore nothing but the Ancient's black cloak. On the heels of that thought came the realization that she felt absolutely filthy.

Assurjan seemed to read her thoughts, and waved a hand at an open chest across the yurt. “There is clothing there, and we are not far from the shore, if you wish to bathe. We have some time yet before sundown.”

“All right.” Raema stood, holding the cloak about herself awkwardly with one hand while she went to look through the chest with the other. Its contents were jumbled messily together, as if bandits had already searched through for anything of value. Exasperated, she gathered up an armful without inspecting it, and ducked out of the yurt.

Sunset was not far off; the shadows stretched out before her, reaching for the shore. She carried her bundle of clothing toward the beach, still feeling a bit unsteady. The water called to her, and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to immerse herself, scrub away the filth that she could feel on every inch of her skin. Dropping the clothes, she shrugged out of Assurjan's cloak and hurried to the water.

She stopped at the water's edge, letting the foam lap at her toes. Wavering atop the water, her reflection seemed pale and haunted. Bruises, looking a week old after the healing potion, marred her cheek, her throat, her breasts, her thighs. Old blood still stained her lips and chin, giving her a savage appearance. Remembering sinking her teeth into Calvario's neck, Raema shuddered. She waded into the water, unwilling to look at that reflection any longer.

The water was shockingly cold around her ankles; she gasped at it, but forged ahead determinedly, until she stood waist-deep. She ducked her head under and came up sputtering at the cold, rubbing at her face. She stayed in the water as long as she could stand it, scrubbing herself until her legs began to tingle and go numb. The sun was nearly fully below the horizon, by then. She made her way back to shore and crouched, dripping, to search through the pile of clothing.

Most of it was Ashlander garb, traditional clothing that would probably get her killed for wearing it if they encountered any true Ashlanders... but she found a deep burgundy shirt that might have been looted from a villager, and some plain trousers to go along with it. There were no boots, but she found a pair of sandals that were better than bare feet. When she was dressed, she combed her fingers through her wet hair as best she could, gathered up Assurjan's cloak and returned to the yurt.

He rose gracefully to his feet when she entered, taking back his cloak with a nod. “Better?” he asked quietly.

Raema managed to give him a reassuring smile. “Good enough, my lord.” She felt cleaner, though the memory of her captor's cruel hands on her still lingered like a stain just under her skin. That, she knew from experience, would only fade with time.

Assurjan settled the cloak around his shoulders, and strapped his sword into place over it. For a long moment he waited, eyes unfocused, as if he were watching something within his mind. _Waiting for sunset_ , she realized, just as he raised his head and looked at her. “Let us go,” he said, and she followed him out of the yurt.

* * *

They had to move slowly at first-- or Raema did, and Assurjan refused to leave her behind, no matter how she urged him. "We are not in a hurry," he said, "and you have no weapons. We will go as slowly as we must." Though Raema was frustrated by how often she needed to stop and rest, he was far more patient than she felt. He remained by her side without complaint, and though she knew Assurjan was preoccupied with thoughts of the clan, his presence was comforting.

Slowly, they followed the coastline south; Assurjan was worried that Juraene's territory inland was no longer safe. As the night went on, Raema began to feel somewhat stronger, especially after she found a few ash yams to eat along the way. When she could move more quickly, Assurjan pushed them to cover as much ground as possible. However, as dawn approached, it became clear that they would not make Telasero before daylight. Just when Raema began to worry that they would not find shelter in time, the twisting outline of a Daedric shrine rose out of the mist.

 _If ever a structure could look drunk, it's this one,_ Raema thought wryly. Like all Daedric shrines, it seemed a mess of alien lines and half-finished shapes, with little regard for flat, level surfaces. At Assurjan's insistence, she let him descend the stairs first, looking for danger, but she followed a few paces behind him.

There was no statue of a Daedra, only the altar itself, small offerings laid atop it. With a quick spell from Assurjan, an old campfire came to life, bathing the shrine in flickering light. It revealed several crates in one corner, and some abandoned bedrolls in another. Raema circled through the shrine, looking for signs that the previous visitors were planning to return. There was a layer of dust over everything, undisturbed except for her footprints. Whoever had been staying here, they were unlikely to return. She eyed the crates warily, wondering if they held anything of value, then decided she didn't care enough to look.

She turned to see Assurjan sitting on a stone block with his back to the altar, elbows on his knees. Raema bit her lip. He looked.... _defeated_ , something she had never seen in him. She took a hesitant step towards him, her heart aching.

“My lord...”

He waited a long moment before answering. “I have lost them,” he said quietly, looking up at her suddenly with frost-white eyes. “Whether I turned them myself or not, they were my blood. They looked to me for protection.” She saw his clenched fists fall open, a helpless gesture. “And I have failed them all.”

His words stirred the grief that she herself had held at bay all night. She swallowed past a sudden tearful lump in her throat. All the vampires she had come to know, to almost count as friends... The gods only knew which of them had survived, if any.

Assurjan fell silent, his gaze dropping to the floor. Raema moved closer, longing to comfort him, not certain how much he would allow... how close he would let her get. He didn't look up when she stopped in front of him.

“Assurjan,” she murmured, reaching down to grip his hand. He'd removed his gloves; his skin was cool, palms calloused from years of sword-training and sorcery. “We'll save them,” she said, forcing more conviction into her voice than she felt. “House Hlaalu will help us. We'll save who we can, and whoever we can't save, we'll avenge.”

His fingers tightened around hers, but he said nothing. Raema squeezed back, waiting until he looked up at her. As she'd suspected, there was a glimmer of hunger in his eyes. He hadn't fed since rescuing her, despite how Calvario's death might have drained him. Vivec only knew when he'd last fed before that. “You need to feed, my lord,” she whispered.

He did not deny it, but she kept talking anyway, suddenly feeling nervous. “There's no time for you to hunt before dawn. But...” _You have me._ She let her voice trail off as his grip on her shifted, his hand closing around her wrist instead.

“I know,” he whispered. “And I am sorry.” He lifted her wrist to his mouth, and she expected to feel his fangs sink into her skin-- but it was only his lips, pressed to the pulse in her wrist with a gentle kiss. The touch sent a jolt of pleasure through her, and she drew in a sharp breath. Her heartbeat began to race.

“Raema,” he said softly. “This is the last thing I will ask of you.” He looked up at her again, and the pale, hungry glow in his eyes had grown a bit brighter. “You cannot aid me any further. I have already shown Quarra how important you are to me. If she finds another opportunity to use you against me, she will, and all will be lost.”

His words did nothing to calm the pounding of her heart. _I sacrificed my people to keep you safe,_ those words said, silently. _And I will do it again if necessary._ She could only stare at him, hardly daring to hope she understood him correctly.

He looked away, bowing his head as the pale violet light of his feeding spell began to emanate from his hand. Bracing herself, Raema took a deep breath, clenching her teeth around a groan of pain as the spell pulled at her body, sapping her strength. Gods, she hoped he didn't take too much-- she still did not feel fully recovered from the last vampire who had fed on her. She squeezed her eyes shut as lights burst behind them; the dull pain of Calvario's bites suddenly flared red-hot. She felt herself shaking as her muscles contracted in protest, her chest tightening around each breath--

Abruptly, it was over, the light fading. Suddenly dizzy, Raema wavered on her feet, blinking away the last of the flickering lights in her head. Assurjan caught her with his free hand on her waist, steadying her. He looked up, and gave her a sad smile. “Raema... I release you from your duties to Juraene clan, and from your service as my Hand. You are free.”

Raema realized that her jaw had dropped open, and closed it hurriedly. She had longed for this since the night they had met, and yet now... How could she simply leave? If she hadn't been so careless as to let herself be captured, if Assurjan hadn't come to save _her_ instead of the others, then the clan would not have been overcome. Whether they were still alive elsewhere, or dead already, she couldn't just abandon them to their fate without doing _something_.

Nor, she realized, could she leave the Ancient. He needed her, and no matter how badly he wished to keep her safe, there was no one else who could help him. If he arrived like a desperate beggar before House Hlaalu, alone, they would turn him away with nothing but relief that they were done with him. At the very least, she needed to be there to help convince them that Assurjan's cause was not lost.

She refused to consider the fact that she didn't know what she'd do without him. _Time enough for that sort of moping later._

“My lord...”

He shook his head slightly. “Nothing holds you here, Raema.” He let her go, hands dropping. “I will not ask you to stay. In fact, it would be safer for you to travel now, in daylight.”

Raema caught his hand before it went too far. "That's nonsense. If there was ever a time that you needed a Hand, my lord, it's now."

He eyed their joined hands for a long moment. “I have always needed you," he murmured. "But now, I need you to be safe. I need you to be as far away from Quarra, from this entire mess, as possible. You should go."

Raema squeezed his fingers. "You're not getting rid of me that easily, Assurjan."

The Ancient looked up at her, and she met his eyes steadily. How could he even think she would just leave?

There was a look in his eyes that she recognized, one that said the discussion was not over. "You need to rest,” he said finally, and moved to stand. Raema caught his shoulder with her free hand and pushed him back down, bent and kissed him.

He drew in a long, shaky breath, and kissed her back gently, as if he were afraid of frightening her away. _Gods, we've been stupid,_ Raema thought distantly. All the weeks she had longed for this... _Would it have been so hard to do this sooner?_

When it ended, his grip on her hand had grown nearly strong enough to hurt, as if he never intended to let her go; she was holding him just as tightly. They gazed at each other wordlessly for a long time.

“What do you want, Raema?” He asked in a low voice.

 _I want you to love me,_ she thought silently. The revelation she had had days ago came back to her now, sad and a bit hopeless. _The way that I love you._ But she knew better than to ask it... knew better than to even dwell on it.

“Assurjan... I want to go back to the way we were. I want to forget everything that's happened-- Raxle Berne, and Calv--" She could not say his name without her voice breaking. "Everything. Gods... please, help me forget."

He closed his eyes briefly; when he opened them, they were gleaming with that need she remembered, the hunger that had nothing to do with blood. He stood, and this time, she let him. He sank his fingers into her hair and drew her into another kiss, less gentle this time. A soft moan escaped her, and she moved closer, wrapping her arms around his waist.

When they broke apart, she was breathless, nearly overcome with emotions. The past months of tension, all that lay between them, the horrors of her time with Calvario, the grief that they shared over the loss of Juraene clan... all of it was swirling about her, and all she wanted was _him_.

He looked at her with that piercing white gaze, one hand on her hip, one stroking her cheek. Before he could speak, she kissed him again. Her hands tugged at his black sorcerer's robe, then at the laces of his shirt, exposing his chest and the Ashlander tattoos that decorated it. Assurjan growled, deep in his throat, as she ran her fingers over his skin.

His lips left hers, moving down to kiss her jaw, her neck. He pressed gentle kisses over the bruises on her throat, making her tremble. His fingers found the buttons on her shirt and began to undo them with a slow, deliberate patience.

She shrugged out of the shirt, let it fall. Assurjan's hands slid down her sides, and he bent down so he could kiss the bite mark on the slope of her breast.

_She cried out, and he only laughed around the mouthful of her flesh, the laughter vibrating against her skin. Releasing her, Calvario laughed as she squirmed helplessly, trapped beneath him--_

Raema gasped, and Assurjan stopped, lifting his head to meet her eyes. She squeezed her eyes shut, hating the fact that he could feel her tensing in his arms.

He brought his hands up to cup her breasts gently, calloused thumbs rubbing over her nipples, and another rush of desire overtook her apprehension. Perhaps he did not love her, perhaps he _could_ not... but there was more emotion in those careful caresses than she had ever dared to hope for. Slowly, she felt her tension melting away, and when he brought his lips to her skin once more, Calvario did not surface in her thoughts.

They continued slowly shedding each other's clothing. He moved with a measured pace, watching her carefully as his hands slid over her body. She shivered, his touch raising gooseflesh, as he pushed the memories of Calvario away. She felt desperate to go on, to erase her violation by the other vampire as quickly as she could, but Assurjan seemed to know her better than she did herself. He was cautious with her, so careful, as if she were made of glass. Even when he lifted her, turned and set her on the edge of the altar, it was gentle-- though she could feel the urgent tension in his movements.

Raema let out a shuddering breath, hoping that the unknown Daedra would not mind a vampire and a mortal making love on his altar. Assurjan groaned softly, breathing her name. It was the last time either of them spoke for a long while. All memories of Calvario fled, as if Assurjan delved into the very core of her and swept the memories away, replacing them with himself, instead. She clung to him as if her life depended on his touch. Everything was gone, destroyed, but it was only Assurjan who mattered. She felt the change in him, when he knew that he did not need to be so cautious, and then he gripped her just as tightly in return. _I am still here,_ she thought, hoping he could feel it in her touch. _And I'm not leaving you, Assurjan..._

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

Assurjan did not wake her the next evening, instead waiting for her to awaken on her own. It made for a late start; they did not leave the shrine until well after midnight. Though Raema felt as if eyes were on her back for the whole journey, they saw no one. Assurjan set a slightly faster pace than he had the night before. Well-rested, if still feeling a bit weak, Raema was able to keep pace with him easily enough. She gnawed on bit of stale bread she had found in a crate in the shrine, and wondered if Assurjan, like herself, was reluctant to reach Telasero.

Reluctant or not, they could not dawdle all night. It was nearing dawn when they drew close to the stronghold. Assurjan had been silent nearly the entire journey. Now, in the faint, growing light, she could see the way his jaw was clenched, could almost feel the fury radiating from him.

“Can you sense them, my lord?” she asked, knowing the two of them were near enough. If any vampires remained in Telasero, he would be able to feel them by now.

“No,” he said shortly, quickening his pace.

The rocks gave way to the paths she knew, and Assurjan slowed again as the fortress loomed into view. When he stopped suddenly, Raema nearly walked into his back.

“What is it?” she asked, coming up beside him.

“Telasero,” he said grimly, “is empty of vampires. But if Quarra has mortals at her command, I will not be able to sense them.” He glanced at her, eyes glinting faintly. “You are still unarmed. Stay close, Raema.”

She nodded, and they approached the stronghold. It seemed eerily silent, even for the barren Ashlands. They saw no movement as they approached the staircase on the stronghold's side. At the top of the steps, Raema could see bodies scattered across the stronghold, clearly visible in the pre-dawn light.

Assurjan prodded the nearest one with his foot, rolling the body onto its back. Raema did not recognize him, or her. Shriveled and desiccated like anyone killed by a vampire feeding, it could have been one of Juraene's, or Quarra's. Assurjan left the body where it lay, and made for the door; Raema hurried after him.

Inside, the stronghold was dark as pitch. After waiting a long moment, listening to the silence, Assurjan muttered a word. Light bloomed, bright after the utter darkness, and Raema squeezed her eyes shut. When she could open them again, she saw that he had lit the candles in the audience chamber-- the few that had not been smashed flat. Raema imagined mercenaries' booted feet trampling through the stronghold, and grimaced.

There were more bodies in the audience chamber, which Assurjan ignored. The hall to his chambers was empty; in his library, books were scattered about, pages torn, splashed with blood. Even Raema's own little alcove outside his bedchamber had been ransacked, her few possessions scattered or missing.

Assurjan's bedchamber was worse. The bookshelves had been completely overturned, spilling books and bottles and his sorcerer's items across the floor. His worktable, once a site of organized work, looked as if some spellcaster had enveloped it in flame. Charred papers were scattered about, and the glass paraphernalia of his work was melted and misshapen.

Just inside the door, another body lay. Raema glanced at it, expecting it to be as unrecognizable as the others, then gave a cry of shock.

“Talintus!” She dropped to her knees beside him, horrified. Above a nose smashed and bloody, the Imperial's eyes stared blankly. She had known not to expect anyone alive, but still-- seeing Talintus was a shock.

“His sword,” Assurjan said. “You need a weapon, Raema.”

 _Bloody Oblivion,_ she thought. She had not even noticed it; his weapon was still sheathed at his side, unbloodied. Hesitating, she murmured a quick prayer for her weapons master. “Forgive me,” she added, reluctantly unbuckling his swordbelt.

“He never even drew it, my lord,” she noted, getting to her feet. “He trusted whoever it was that killed him.”

“Irarak,” the Ancient growled. Raema shivered; she still could not believe that Assurjan's old friend had betrayed them all. Unbidden, his words from weeks ago came back to her. _Assurjan needs someone he can trust, someone loyal, someone who won't betray him._ Had Irarak known, even then, what he was going to do?

She followed Assurjan to the lower level of the stronghold. There, they found only more of the same: disarray and corpses, but nothing more. Even the cattle had been slaughtered.

“My lord?” Raema asked, as he stood staring at the bodies strewn about the common area of the lower level.

He glanced over at her, and she took an involuntary step back. All night, she had been painfully aware of the fury that seethed under his calm exterior; now she could see it blazing in his eyes, and it startled her with its intensity.

Before she could speak, however, footsteps sounded from the upper level. Soft footsteps, but ringingly loud in the stronghold's emptiness. They paused, then drew closer, descending the stairs. Assurjan motioned her away from the steps, his hands gaining an unearthly glow of magicka. Heart pounding, Raema gripped Talintus' sword, waiting.

When Jole stepped warily into view, a throwing knife readied in each hand, Raema nearly collapsed in relief. The Redguard's face broke into a wide grin when he saw her.

"Raema! Gods, I'm glad to see you--" he stopped, looking back at Assurjan. The grin faded. "This is a dangerous place for you to be, Ancient," he said. "They're coming back. Curio ordered that the Hlaalu gather anything of value that they didn't get last night, and begin clearing away the bodies--"

Raema's legs did collapse then; her knees thudded painfully onto the stone floor, and Jole cast her a startled glance. She didn't want to believe it. _Betrayal upon betrayal, Irarak and House Hlaalu..._

The glow of Assurjan's hands winked out, but the fury in his eyes only intensified, a blaze that outshone the scattered candles. "The Hlaalu," he said, in a voice as cold as the grave.

Jole glanced from one to the other, not understanding. Horror broke over Raema in a chilling wave, settling into a pool in the pit of her stomach. _It's my fault. My fault. I knew not to trust Bero, I knew it! If I had told Assurjan, then maybe..._ She struggled to her feet, forcing her stunned mind to work. _The Hlaalu betrayed us. Bloody Oblivion, they killed the clan. And now they will want Assurjan... We can't stay here!_

“They're coming,” she said, hardly able to speak, her heart was pounding so hard. She moved towards him, half-intending to pull him bodily toward the stairs. “Assurjan, we have to leave, now!”

He looked at her, visibly making an effort to control his rage. “Raema,” he said in a firm voice, cutting through her near-panic. “Dawn has already broken. There is nowhere for me to go.”

That pool of horror in her stomach roiled, nearly making her gag. The Hlaalu had them in the perfect trap.

She began cursing, and didn't stop until he grasped her arms, startling her into silence. “You must go,” he said softly. “You can still escape.”

“I'm not leaving you.” As if he truly thought she would abandon him to the Hlaalu and simply leave! “Between the two of us, we might--”

“Fight all of them off until nightfall? No!" He snapped, his hands tightening on her arms. "Neither of us have the strength for it. You _will not_ stay here, Raema. I forbid it. Get out, while there is still time.”

He was afraid, she realized with a shock. Not afraid of the coming Hlaalu, but afraid for her. _I can't leave you_ , she thought. _I won't._

“You no longer command me, Assurjan.” It came out in a whisper.

He snarled wordlessly, pushing her back a step until her back met the wall. “Do you want to keep me alive? Then you must get to safety; or else they will only find a way to use you against me. They will use you to bend me to their will. Quarra has taken my home, my clan, my oldest friend. I _will not_ let her have you.” He stepped closer, until she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes; they held an expression she had never seen but almost recognized, as if he had only allowed her glimpses of it until now. His next words made the floor fall away from under her feet, until she felt that the only thing holding her up was his hands on her arms.

“I love you, Raema. Do not make me watch you die, or I promise you, I will not be far behind.”

Her mouth dropped open, but she could not speak. Somewhere, distantly, an old wound healed over, closing a hole that had lain open for a long, long time.

He kissed her quickly, pressing her against the wall with a fierce desperation. “You must go," he breathed against her mouth. "Please, Raema..."

Assurjan released her, stepped back, still staring at her. Raema squeezed her eyes shut. After everything, to finally hear the words she had longed for, _now..._

Jole moved forward, cleared his throat. Raema had forgotten he was there. He was watching the Ancient with a peculiar expression on his face; and he had his manacles in one hand, the enchanted ones that blocked the wearer's magicka. "It will go easier for you, Ancient, if you allow me to restrain you. There is a reason the Hlaalu sent me ahead. If I have already captured you by the time they arrive, no one will question it."

"Easy, hunter?" Assurjan asked softly. He shifted slightly on his feet, and the entire atmosphere of the room changed to something cold and deadly. "The slaughter of my entire clan was far too _easy_ for you. Do not expect me to _allow_ you anything."

Raema flinched. She hadn't even thought to wonder how Jole knew about the attack on the clan. But he'd been working for the Hlaalu... _._ She felt sick again. Irarak, and the Hlaalu, and _Jole--!_

But the Redguard was shaking his head; he looked pained. "I knew nothing about this, Ancient. For weeks, the Hlaalu were paying me to _not_ hunt your clan, just as you were. I didn't know what they were planning, didn't learn about Telasero until afterward." He paused, glancing at Raema. "I promise you, I would have warned you if I knew. For Raema's sake."

Raema rubbed at her temples, overwhelmed. Assurjan's words still echoed in her head, just another thing she could hardly believe. _Not now,_ she told herself. _Think! There has to be something, some way... Without fleeing, without fighting..._

And then, she knew exactly what she had to do. An image formed in her mind of Assurjan from her dream, watching her with sad eyes above her own sword in his chest... _No... I can't._

_But it's the only way._

Slowly, she raised her head to look at the vampire. His eyes were still afire, with hunger and fury, and something else, something new, that she could not acknowledge. Not now. "Assurjan," she said slowly, her voice trembling. "There might be a way. To keep you alive, to let me stay close to you. But..." She paused, glancing at Jole. Whatever he said, she could not be certain of his loyalties. And that meant she could not explain, not thoroughly, not in his presence.

She drew a breath, then met the vampire's eyes again. "Do you trust me, my lord?"

Assurjan was silent, that utterly still silence that only the undead could achieve. And from the upper levels, voices rang out, growing closer. The moment stretched; Raema could hear her own blood throbbing in her ears.

Assurjan lifted his hands without a word, holding them towards her, almost as if he were presenting her with a gift. Raema nodded tightly to Jole, who moved forward to clasp the manacles around the vampire's wrists. The Ancient ignored it; he held her gaze without blinking, and Raema stared back, her heart twisting in her chest at what she was about to do.

The manacles snapped into place with a metallic _click_. Almost immediately, Assurjan's bound fists rose and smashed into Jole's face, making the Redguard stagger. He recovered quickly, with a blade flashing out and laid against the vampire's throat before Raema had a chance to react. But the vampire resumed his stillness, regarding the hunter coolly.

Assurjan raised an eyebrow. "Would they have believed I was captured without a fight?"

Jole snorted a humorless laugh. Spitting out a mouthful of blood, he eased the knife away. "Bloody n'wah," he said, sounding rueful.

Raema clenched her fists. She felt crazed laughter bubbling up inside her, and sobs too, as if she were some skooma-addled Khajiit. Voices called down the stairs, asking for Jole.

"Here!" the hunter shouted back. With an apologetic glance in Raema's direction, he grasped Assurjan's arm. "Come on, Ancient."

Boots came thundering down the stairs as Jole guided the vampire to meet them. Assurjan met her eyes once more.

"I'm sorry," was all Raema had time to whisper. _Forgive me for what I'm going to do..._

People crowded into the chamber, members of House Hlaalu, fighters in armor and mismatched clothing, weapons at the ready, all eying the vampire warily. The last man paused on the steps, surveying the room silently.

"Councilor Bero," Raema blurted, when she saw the startled recognition in his eyes. "As we discussed... I seized an opportunity, and brought you a gift."

Jole shot her a startled glance. She ignored it, keeping her gaze on Dram Bero. _Don't turn around,_ she told herself desperately. _Don't look at Assurjan._ She knew the expression he'd be wearing, had seen it in her nightmare.

"Well," Bero said finally, descending the last step. He approached the three of them, looking justifiably wary. "This is... a pleasant surprise. Raema, I am happy to see you again--"

 _He knows!_ She realized; there was more than polite concern in his voice. He knew how she had been used for bait in the trap, knew she had been sacrificed to Calvario. She had to swallow back a new wave of fury.

"How did this happen?" Bero continued, studying the Ancient. Assurjan regarded him calmly, but the fierce light in his eyes belied his blank expression.

Raema gestured at the manacles around his wrists. "These were left in the tomb where I was captured," she said. "I took them, just in case. When the Ancient told me what happened, what he wanted me to do... I knew he wouldn't let me go, not even now, with his clan gone. So I took the opportunity when I could, threw these on him and brought him here. I figured you would be back eventually."

"She was here waiting when I arrived," Jole added. He rubbed at the blood that smeared his lip, and grinned. "Aside from a little scuffle, this was the _easiest_ catch I've ever made," he added, with a swift glare at the Ancient.

"I see," Bero said. He turned to Raema. "Well, sera, I'm very happy to see that you made the right choice. As we've discussed, I'm sure we will find a place within House Hlaalu for you-- as a free citizen, of course-- in thanks for this service you have given us."

Raema swallowed, and could only nod in reply. She could feel Assurjan's stare like a weight leaning against her. He hadn't known, of course, about Bero's attempts to make her turn traitor. Gods, all she wanted to do was draw her sword and clear a path through the Hlaalu, to prove to the Ancient that she was on his side....

"What do you plan to do with him?" Jole asked, and Raema knew he asked for her sake.

The Dunmer councilor hesitated. "Volrina Quarra will take him," he said, looking unhappy. "That was her price for her aid. My lord Ancient, I am sorry it came to this. I do not relish turning on an ally. Perhaps it would have been better if our two groups had never allied at all."

"Indeed," Assurjan said darkly, his deep voice layered and fractured with hunger. Even captive, restrained, surrounded, he made that simple word into a threat. Several of the gathered fighters shifted nervously, gripping their weapons.

Bero didn't seem to notice. He pulled an object from his pocket, handed it to a nearby Hlaalu: a propylon index. "Take the prisoner back to Hlormaren," he ordered. "Ser Devan, if you'll be so kind as to accompany the Ancient..."

Raema winced inwardly. The walk to the propylon chamber, in sunlight, would be short but painful for the vampire. She took a step, meaning to go with them; Jole's quick, warning shake of his head held her back. She stood frozen, heart pounding, while a few more Hlaalu stepped forward to surround Assurjan. The others gave the group a wide berth as they made for the stairs.

Assurjan caught her eye as he passed. For the briefest instant, his cold exterior cracked. Raema could see that sadness she knew from her nightmare, and-- _Oh, gods--_ the newly professed love he bore for her.

Then he was once again blank as stone, being led away. Raema made herself watch. _I did this,_ she thought hollowly, as he ascended the stairs. _I gave him to the Hlaalu. And if it weren't for me, the clan would still be alive..._

 _No. It is House Hlaalu, and Volrina Quarra, who have done this._ The reminder made her grit her teeth.

"This must be difficult for you," Dram Bero said quietly. Raema bit back the reply she wanted to give, and made herself smile hollowly.

"A bit," she conceded. "But freedom is a wonderful feeling."

Bero smiled back. "I'm glad. My lady Hand-- well, I suppose I cannot call you that any longer. Raema, you know this stronghold well. Would you be so kind as to show us about?"

 _And help you to plunder our home,_ she thought bitterly. "Of course, Councilor..."

* * *

"Here, this one," the Hlaalu said, gesturing towards a cell... of sorts. The lower level of the stronghold Hlormaren had been converted to a prison area: new doors had been installed in the four large side chambers, all metal bars and magicka, faintly glimmering. Jole eyed the craftsmanship, and decided it would hold.

The Ancient did not resist as Jole steered him into the room. He turned about, watching silently as the Hlaalu woman swung the door shut and sealed it. The vampire had borne the sunlit trips to and from the propylon chambers without complaint, but there was a tightness around his eyes that spoke of pain and weariness.

"Those bracers better not come off, for anything," Jole told the woman. "They're the only thing keeping him from tearing down the door."

"I believe it," she said, with nervous humor. "I don't think anyone will be going near enough to take them off, trust me."

Assurjan's lips twitched; his amusement only seemed to unnerve the woman more. She took a step backward, hand on her dagger's hilt. "Councilor Curio will wish to speak with you," she said to Jole.

"In a minute," the hunter said, waving her away. She left with a hurried stride, and Jole and Assurjan remained staring at each other through the barred door, silently.

"For what it's worth, Ancient, I'm sorry it's come to this."

The vampire interlaced his fingers, as if it were his own choice to hold his bound hands together, and said nothing.

Jole rubbed his chin, feeling the last few days' accumulated stubble under his fingers. Gods, when was the last time he had slept for more than three hours together?

"Did you mean what you said? What you told Raema?"

Assurjan raised an eyebrow. "Do you believe I would give voice to such a thing, if it were untrue?" He asked softly.

"I think you would lie about anything, if it meant your survival."

" _Nearly_ anything, perhaps. But not this. Not to her." There was something in his voice, a flicker of emotion through his careful impassivity, that startled Jole.

"Bloody Oblivion," he muttered. "You _do_ love her, don't you?"

"You were undead yourself, Redguard. Is it truly so hard to believe it possible?"

An image burned into Jole's mind, one that he had kept hidden away for so long... _Berinda's eyes, frozen wide and terrified, lips twisted into a silent scream, above the mess where his fangs had torn her throat out. Her arms were curled protectively around the soft roundness of her belly-- their child, who would also be dead, by now. The blood that had nourished it, Berinda's blood, still tasted salty-sweet on his tongue. Oh, gods, what had he done? Berinda, his sweet Berinda... he had loved her so much, and now--_

He shoved away the memory, found himself still deep under the stronghold, one hand bracing against the wall, Assurjan's piercing white stare fixed on him. Curse the vampire, for making him relive that again! Furious, Jole glared back. "That's all she ever wanted, you know," he said in a low voice. "For you to love her. It's a pity you only told her now, at the end." He felt a vicious satisfaction at the vampire's stricken look. Fists clenched, Jole turned to leave.

"Yes," Assurjan said behind him, as he made for the stairs. "A pity, indeed. But she _lives._ "

Jole stumbled a little, catching himself again on the wall. Assurjan loved a mortal woman-- and _he_ had not torn out her throat.

And Raema... she would live the rest of her life, knowing that her actions had led to the death of the one she loved. Gods, he would not wish that fate on her. He had tried to protect her! _Vampires don't love..._

But of course, he had been wrong.

He could feel the Ancient's eyes on his back, cold and piercing. Jole straightened, and forced himself to climb the stairs without a backward glance.

 


	13. Chapter 13

 

The Eight Plates, like the rest of the inns in Balmora, was full of Hlaalu mercenaries. Raema strode through the common room, feeling their gazes following her. They were her enemies, though they didn't know it yet. Only a few of them knew that she had been the Hand of the Ancient they held prisoner; and they now believed she was on their side. Aside from those few, she was unknown, not a Hlaalu member that anyone remembered seeing at the battle, a late-comer. Some of those gazes were jealous ones, calculating, determined not to let her receive a cut of their pay that she hadn't earned with them. It gave her a grim sense of satisfaction, knowing that they mistakenly thought her one of them.

She ignored them, making for the stairs. She had been lucky to get a room to herself; Dram Bero had made a few others share rooms so that she might be alone. She'd been grateful, at the time.

Now, when she opened the door and found the councilor inside, rifling through her things, she realized he had not done it out of kindness. _Of course not... He's a Hlaalu._

He looked completely unsurprised to see her, and not at all ashamed to be caught snooping. "My lady Raema," he said, and held up the amulet she had purchased that morning. It dangled from a leather cord, glinting with an iridescent Recall spell. "Were you planning to go somewhere?" he asked, letting the amulet fall onto the scrolls of Divine Intervention she'd acquired as well. "With a particular undead companion, perhaps?"

"Get out of my room," she said, startled at how cold her own voice sounded.

"You heard the Hand, Omesu," Dram said to his guard, a Dunmer woman standing in the corner. "If you'd be so kind, leave us to speak for a moment."

The woman nodded once, and slipped past Raema, pulling the door closed as she went.

Raema let her hand rise to grip her sword over her shoulder. "You should go with her, Councilor. I don't take kindly to finding thieves in my room."

Dram gave her a tiny smile, raising empty hands. "I have taken nothing, Raema... nor do I plan to. You, on the other hand, seem to be planning to steal something yourself."

"I just like to be prepared," Raema said coolly. "Your House betrayed me once already; I'd like to avoid a recurrence. Always good to have a way out."

"A plausible explanation," Dram said, and fixed her with an intense stare. "Except that I know you, Raema-- not very well, perhaps, but we _have_ worked together. And I can't imagine that the Raema I know would turn on her master so easily.... even for the promise of freedom. You're planning something."

Raema eyed him for a long, silent moment. She let her fingers tighten on the grip of her sword; the leather scabbard creaked softly. "And you are confronting me about it in my room, with your guard outside. Why?"

"I did not intend to confront you, I assure you. I planned to let you attempt your rescue without interference."

That startled her. " _Why?_ "

"In the hopes that you would provide a distraction, allowing us to deal with a far worse vampire."

"Quarra," Raema breathed.

Dram nodded once. "I had little say in the House's involvement with the vampires; all of it was Crassius' doing. I would have preferred to avoid them altogether... but it has become apparent that Volrina Quarra was a far worse choice of ally. If Assurjan's escape will allow us the chance to be rid of her, so much the better."

"Why?" Raema asked again, bitterly. "She has helped you rid Vvardenfell of all the vampires. The news has already spread; people all over the island are talking about it. House Hlaalu will have more power and influence than ever. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"All the vampires save one," Dram said darkly. "She has the House firmly in her grasp, now. And I do not imagine she will be content to leave us be. I would far rather be allied to Assurjan Juraene than enslaved to Volrina Quarra."

Raema laughed softly, humorlessly. "If you think we will ally with you _again_ \--"

"House Hlaalu will shortly be under new leadership," Dram said calmly. "I fear that Crassius Curio's judgment has been compromised by Quarra's influence. Fortunately, a large number of our members agree with me... and the others can be bought, for the right price."

Raema let go of her sword, folded her arms across her chest. "So we should ally with _you,_ instead? You did nothing to stop your House from destroying us, Councilor. They are _all dead_ , now. They may have been vampires, but they were-- they were my family." An image of Talintus rose in her mind: sparring with her, his grizzled face grinning at the strength and skill she'd developed under his tutelage. "And Assurjan--"

She looked away, searching for words. Dram waited silently, his expression somber when she finally looked back at him. "He is a vampire, yes... _and_ he is honorable. He found me, a troublesome slave worth less than it cost to feed me, and he made me into something _more_. And he wanted only to do the same for his clan. _That_ was why we had allied with House Hlaalu: he was trying to carve out a place for Juraene clan, a way for us to exist side-by-side with the people of Vvardenfell. He sought to make his clan better, more than simply a group of undead blood drinkers. And I will not let him be rewarded for that by being a trophy of House Hlaalu's bloody greatness!”

"Nor should you," Dram said quietly after her outburst. "In my experience, he has been nothing but honorable. Frightening, perhaps, but I've never had reason to distrust him. Hlaalu's leadership has made some poor choices in this affair-- I will ensure that it does not happen again.

"Now, do not misunderstand me," he added. "I cannot offer to _help,_ and I am not fool enough to believe you would trust me if I did. But, I can ensure that you will not be hindered. And if you succeed in escaping, we will not pursue you."

Raema stared at him. She could not entirely believe what he was saying-- but did it matter? "You've betrayed him," she said. "Are you truly willing to let him go, knowing that he will be free, and still furious at you?"

"Given a choice between him and Quarra, I know my answer," Dram said, with a rueful smile. "If it rids us of Quarra, I am willing to risk his escape, and hope that it will redeem me somewhat. Now, she was to come for him at sundown tonight, so--"

" _Sundown?_ " Raema exclaimed. Bloody Oblivion, it had already been early evening when she'd returned to the inn. How long had they been in her room talking?

Dram picked up the scrolls and the amulet, held them out toward her. "There is an entrance to Hlormaren's sewer levels hidden among the rocks on the coast. You should hurry, Raema."

Raema stared at him, wide-eyed. The thought flashed through her mind that it was just another trap, another betrayal...

But if it were not, this was her only chance to save Assurjan.

She snatched the items from Dram's hand and turned to go.

"Good luck," called the councilor’s voice, as she rushed from the room.

* * *

 

The sun was dangerously close to the horizon, hovering over the edge of the sea, when Raema burst from the trees at the shore. She glanced at it worriedly-- How long before it set? The muck and sand on the beach pulled at her boots as she ran north. She was gasping for air when she found the half-submerged door that connected Hlormaren's sewer level into the sea.

Once inside, Raema clambered out of the water, and grimaced down at her wet clothing. The invisibility spells wouldn't do her much good if she was going to leave puddles of water everywhere she went. In the dim light, she shook herself off, squeezed the excess water from her hair, then drew her sword. _No sense in letting it rust in the sheath_ , she thought, and began to make her way deeper into the sewer.

The tunnels seemed deathly quiet, with only the occasional drip of water to cast tiny echoes. Rounding a corner, Raema didn't see the Dunmer curled up on the floor until she tripped over him. She stumbled, hissed a curse, caught herself on the tunnel wall with her empty hand.

The Dunmer stirred, then sat up. In the dimness of the sewer, Raema could tell when his eyes opened; they blazed with the hunger of a new vampire. He caught sight of her and snarled wordlessly. Nearly too fast for Raema to see, he gathered his feet under him and sprang for her.

Acting on instinct more than thought, Raema thrust the sword at him, feeling it slide between ribs. Undeterred, still snarling, he clawed at her, fingers glinting with the feeding spell. Grimacing at the sensation, Raema planted one foot on his chest and jerked her sword free. He swayed on his feet as blood oozed from the wound. When he lunged at her again, she took his head from his shoulders with a yell.

Silence returned as the vampire's corpse dropped to the ground. Raema stared at it, shaking. He was newly turned. He could not have been a vampire when he'd fallen asleep-- vampires didn't sleep. She remembered, all too well, how it felt to first awaken with that new, all-consuming hunger for blood and power... how it could drive a young vampire to ignore even a stab to the chest, because all that mattered was the pursuit of the hot, sweet blood that flowed in the veins of its prey--

 _Stop it,_ she told herself, forcing the memories back. She bent to wipe the blood from her sword with his shirt. How had the Dunmer gotten here, and who was he? A Hlaalu, fallen asleep on guard duty in the sewer? She had no way of knowing which bloodline had turned him... but she couldn't help hoping that a Juraene vampire had managed that bit of revenge.

Either way, it didn't matter, really. She left the body and moved on; the only thing that mattered was Assurjan. Around a few more turns, the door to the stronghold's lower level appeared. She crouched beside it, pressed her ear to the damp wood. She could hear nothing, feel no vibrations through the door. It was unlocked.

Her free hand strayed to the Recall amulet that hung about her neck, making certain it was still there. It was set for one of Juraene's "safe-house" caves. She also had the scrolls of Divine Intervention in her pockets, but they wouldn't be her first choice. She tucked the charm back inside her shirt, and cracked the door, squinting in the sliver of light that spilled through.

A glance showed no one in sight; the room beyond seemed as deathly quiet as the sewer had been. Raema pushed the door open just enough to slip through. It opened into a large chamber, almost filled with two of the huge columns that supported the weight of the stronghold above. Four other rooms branched off to the sides; these had been fitted with cell doors, iron and magicka glinting in the torchlight. Inside the nearest one, four Dunmer slumped against the walls, one with an arm that ended in a bloodstained bandage. Another one glanced over at her, and his eyes widened.

Raema stared at him. She knew him-- one of Irarak's followers. He opened his mouth to speak, and she held a finger to her lips. _Wait,_ she mouthed.

The vampire nodded, but he crept closer to the bars, eyes glinting with desperate hunger. Silently, he pulled himself to his feet, and Raema could feel his eyes on her back as she crept farther into the room. If she released them, the chaos they caused might cover her and Assurjan's escape-- but they might as easily turn on her without knowing it. She didn't relish the thought of four starving vampires running loose.

Raema ducked around the first column, slipping closer toward the door. The cell opposite Irarak's vampires was empty. Assurjan had to be in one of the other two-- those cells were guarded by a lone Hlaalu in bonemold armor, seated on the bottom steps with his sword across his knees. His helmet was propped beside him on the stairs.

Raema pressed her back against the column, drew a deep breath. He hadn't seen her, and he was only a few steps away. If she was quick--

Raema whirled around the column, crossed the open space in three strides. The Hlaalu looked up, startled, and reached too slowly for his hilt. Raema's boot lashed out in a round kick, smashing into the side of his head. His temple struck the stone wall, and he fell back, armor clattering on the stairs. Wincing at the noise, Raema froze, waiting to hear shouts of alarm from the upper level.

None came. In the silence, she could sense that Irarak's vampire was not the only one watching her. Turning, she saw Assurjan standing inside the nearest cell.

"Raema."

Raema felt herself break into a grin. Assurjan looked weary and worn, with his braid of black hair disheveled and his eyes glowing hungrily. He was whole, though, and in better condition than Irarak's people. He stood with his hands, still bound by Jole's manacles, folded before him.

"My lord," Raema murmured, approaching his cell.

The corners of his eyes crinkled-- the barest hint of a smile. "This is... unexpected."

Raema swallowed. "You didn't think I would leave you to rot with the Hlaalu, did you?" She asked, attempting to sound light-hearted, and failing at it.

The Ancient raised one eyebrow, and said nothing. Wincing, Raema reached through the bars to grasp his hand. "I did what I had to do, to keep you alive, my lord."

He squeezed her fingers. "I know," he said softly. "I should be grateful that you played your part so convincingly."

Gods, that look in his eyes... Raema had spent so long wishing to see it, she could hardly tear her gaze away. "Not finished yet," she murmured, and squeezed his hand again before pulling back. Frowning, she examined the cell door. It was spelled, glinting with a nearly-invisible, iridescent sheen. That would interfere, she knew, if it stood between her and Assurjan when she tried to use the Recall amulet with him. _Alright, plan B,_ she thought, pulling her lockpicking tools from her pocket. She knelt before the door. "Quarra is coming for you at sunset. We'll be gone by then...I hope."

"Sunset," Assurjan said quietly. He would be able to sense its approach, as well as Quarra's, Raema knew. Examining the door lock, she breathed a sigh of relief that it was not trapped. Assurjan watched silently as she set about picking the lock.

Minutes ticked by in silence; Raema began to sweat as she worked. Every moment that it didn't open, someone was bound to come down the stairs and...

"She is here," Assurjan said suddenly. "Raema, you must go."

Raema ignored him, ear pressed to the lock so she could hear the tumblers clicking. "Wait--"

The Ancient reached through the bars and grasped her hand. At the sudden jarring, the pick shifted in her hand, and the tumblers dropped. Raema muttered a curse.

"The guard, Raema," Assurjan reminded her. She glanced over her shoulder at the Hlaalu she'd knocked unconscious. She would have to hide, and wait for another chance-- but she couldn't leave the guard there. She shoved the lockpick back into her pocket, and pulled out one of the Divine Intervention scrolls instead.

She pressed it into Assurjan's hands. "If you get the chance, if they take the bracers off, use it," she said urgently. "Promise me you'll use it if you can, my lord."

"I will," he replied, tucking the scroll inside the sleeve of his robe. "Quickly now, Raema."

Raema snatched up the guard's helm and shoved it onto his head, then hooked her hands under his arms and dragged him to the cell next to Assurjan's. With luck, no one would glance at the empty cell... but she dragged the man into the back, into the shadows, just in case.

As she lowered him to the floor, she heard voices, footsteps, coming down the staircase. She pressed herself against the wall of the cell and dared a peek around the corner.

Seven guards were there, weapons drawn, while an eighth, an Orc, unlocked Assurjan's cell. "Come on, vampire," the Orc growled, seizing Assurjan's arm in one massive hand. "Someone's come to call on you."

The other guards sniggered as the Orc shoved Assurjan into their midst. One of them spat at the vampire; Assurjan fixed the man with a glare, and said nothing.

"Check him," the Orc grunted to one of the others. Raema blinked in surprise as Jole stepped forward and inspected the manacles. Assurjan watched wordlessly; when he was finished, Jole glanced up at the vampire. If he regretted what was about to happen, he showed no sign of it. "They'll hold," he told the Orc.

The guard nodded. "Let's go," he snapped, prodding Assurjan with the butt of his spear. The eight closed around him, and began to climb the stairs.

When the door above shut with a thud, Raema darted from the cell, reaching for her invisibility--

"Hand of the Ancient," called a voice behind her, a voice shattered into hungry layers. Raema froze; she had forgotten about Irarak's vampires. She turned to see them all on their feet, crowding at the door, staring at her with glimmering white eyes.

Raema bit her lip. "I _can't,_ " she whispered. "Quarra will sense you, she will know if you're moving." _And I can't afford to have anyone sound an alarm... not until Assurjan is safe._

"You will leave us to our deaths?" the one in front said. "The Hlaalu will not let us go. Irarak will try to free us, but... They are letting two Ancients get away, and they will cling to any prisoners they still have. We will all be dead in a matter of days."

Raema glanced back at the stairs. Where were the Hlaalu taking Assurjan to meet Quarra? She had to hurry after them. But... She couldn't just leave Irarak's people. Too many vampires had already died. Briefly, she considered asking them to help her... but they were weakened from their captivity, starved and desperate. She didn't want them at her back. _And_ , she thought, looking at the Dunmer woman with the stump of her arm wrapped in dirty bandages, _they've been put through enough already._ Everything that had happened due to Irarak's betrayal was no fault of theirs.

Slowly, she approached the cell, stopping when she was just out of reach. All four vampires, even the maimed one, stared at her silently, eyes bright in the shadows.

"You can sense the Ancients too, can't you?" Raema asked quietly. The one who had spoken gave a nod.

Raema pointed at the door that led to the sewers. "Through that door is another exit, to the sea. You can get out that way, and be on your way to safety without the Hlaalu knowing. But _Quarra_ will know if you are escaping, and she will send them after you. You must wait until you know she's gone." She held up her lockpick, and fixed the vampire in front with an unblinking stare. "Promise me."

He nodded slowly, and held his hand out to her, palm up. "I swear it."

Raema laid the pick in his hand, and hurried away before misgivings could set in.

The stronghold appeared empty and mostly quiet as she hurried through its levels-- Rather eerily quiet, in fact. Was everyone still recovering from the battle? The only sound was her own hurried footsteps echoing in the stone hallways. Heart pounding, she climbed the stairs to the rooftop and slipped out the door.

A group of Hlaalu were milling about, and Dram Bero was there, directing them where to stand. They all moved quickly, nervously, hands on their weapons. "Where is Crassius?" Bero demanded. "This is his bloody doing... the n'wah should be here to deal with the vampire. You!" He said, pointing at another Hlaalu guard. "Send someone to Councilor Curio's room, make sure he's coming. And you..." He strode away, still giving orders, as a few more more Hlaalu approached from the Propylon chamber.

Assurjan stood in front of the group, still as calm as ever, his manacled hands folded before his waist. The eight guards formed a semicircle around him, with Jole at the far right. The other Hlaalu made sure to keep the guards between themselves and the Ancient.

Rubbing her head absently-- she was starting to get a headache-- Raema joined the back of the group while they organized themselves. Tense and nervous, they did not seem to notice her. A sudden hush fell over the crowd, and all attention turned to the staircase at the side of the stronghold.

Volrina Quarra came into view as she ascended the stairs. She looked just as Raema remembered from Nerano tomb: smiling smugly, torchlight glinting on her glass armor. Irarak was with her, as well as a few more Hlaalu serving as an escort.

"My lady," Dram said, going to greet her. "Be welcome to Hlormaren. As you can see, we have your prisoner."

"Indeed," Quarra said, with a wide, dangerous grin. "Your House has done well, Dram." At her side, Irarak glanced over the crowd. When he caught sight of Raema, his eyes widened. Raema's heart nearly stopped, and they stared at each other. She kept her face as blank as she could. _Let him keep silent,_ she prayed fervently. She had no idea what Irarak believed about her part in Assurjan's capture, or whose side she was on.

Finally, he looked away, and said nothing. Raema managed to breathe again, just barely.

Quarra, meanwhile, was closing the distance between herself and Assurjan. "Well, well," she mused, stopping in front of the other Ancient. Her vicious smile deepened. "It's so good to see you again, Assurjan. You don't know how I've been longing to see you-- with your clan destroyed, everything you cared for ripped away." She reached up and seized his jaw, her fingernails pressing into his dark skin. "We have so much in common now, so many things to discuss," she continued, in a low voice. A spot of blood welled up beneath one fingernail, trickled down her wrist. "I'm looking forward to a long, long visit with you, old friend." With another smile, she let him go, and paused to lick his blood from her hand.

In uncomfortable silence, the Hlaalu glanced at each other, shifting nervously. Assurjan remained impassive, while a slow trickle of blood dripped from his jaw. Raema tensed, wondering when would be the best time to move. No doubt Quarra was planning to leave via sorcery; Raema would have to make her own escape with Assurjan before that happened. Slowly, she began to ease her way through the small crowd of Hlaalu, moving toward the front.

Quarra turned toward Jole. "And Ser Devan, what a surprise to see you again. I hadn't thought that your agreement with House Hlaalu made you a member."

"I'm just a vampire hunter, and I'm just here to see an Ancient brought to justice," he said easily. "And I don't much care which one, so you probably shouldn't come any closer."

Quarra stopped moving, but she was still smiling. "Oh, I had my fun with you already, little hunter. I have no intention of bringing you back to my lair. I will, however, be taking Raema." As she spoke, she waved a hand, and Raema froze as a paralysis spell settled over her.

Spitting curses in her head, Raema glared at Quarra, straining against the paralysis spell. The Hlaalu around her gasped in surprise, and moved away quickly as Quarra approached. There was a sudden commotion as Assurjan lunged forward, snarling, and was stopped by his guards. Jole was wide-eyed and staring, both hands on his knife hilts. Dram Bero spoke up in protest, and Quarra ignored all of it.

"Silly little Hand," she murmured, tucking back a strand of Raema's hair. "You were finally free of him, but you couldn't just leave him, could you? So devoted..." She glanced back at Assurjan, and her fangs gleamed. She reached up and unbuckled Raema's sword, tossed it to the ground. "I don't much care what happens to you, Bosmer-- but Assurjan does. Gods, I will love making him watch what I'll do to you..."

 

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

 

 _Oh, gods,_ Raema thought, straining futilely to lean away from Quarra's touch. Cold fear began to settle in her stomach. In the corner of her paralyzed vision, she could see Assurjan. He was watching her with anguish, held back by three of the guards. A sudden pressure made her headache increase threefold, and she wondered if Quarra had hit her with yet another spell.

"Irarak, bring her," Quarra ordered, and turned back toward Assurjan. Raema could only stare as Irarak approached, grasped her arms and half-dragged her away from the group of Hlaalu. She caught a glimpse of Jole, preoccupied, rubbing at his temple.

"My lady Ancient, I cannot allow this," Dram spoke up. "Raema was never part of our agreement. She is a member of House Hlaalu, and we owe her a debt for giving Assurjan to us. She is not yours to take."

"You are mistaken, mortal," Quarra said coolly. " _Everything_ is mine to take."

In the silence, as the Hlaalu glanced at each other, Raema suddenly knew what that sense of pressure in her head meant. She had not expected to feel it again, not that strongly.

She saw the understanding sweep over Jole's face at the same moment. "Oh, bugger me," he breathed. "What have you done, Quarra?"

Irarak's grip on her arms shifted. _I felt that! The spell is fading,_ Raema realized. Carefully, she wriggled her toes in her boots, feeling sensation returning. If she could fool Irarak long enough for the spell to dissipate, then--

" _Wait,_ " he hissed in her ear. "Wait, Raema."

She froze again, this time intentionally, her mind racing. Whose side was _Irarak_ on? Had _he_ dispelled the paralysis Quarra had laid on her?

The gathered Hlaalu were looking from Jole to Quarra, confused. Before any of them could speak, a sound drifted across the stronghold, carried by the evening breeze: muffled screams.

Raema could feel her extremities again, now, and Irarak was barely gripping her. She could see her sword, on the ground out of reach; she would have no time to retrieve it. But, maybe...

 _Bloody Oblivion, I should have practiced more,_ she thought, as she tried to remember the spells of Destruction that Assurjan had showed her.

Dram Bero was the first to realize what was happening in the stronghold, as the screams grew louder. "Quarra... you didn't," he said, horror dawning on his face. The others glanced worriedly over their shoulders, towards the stronghold entrance, still not understanding.

Quarra only smiled, showing fangs. "Why yes, I did," she said. "All the best Hlaalu who fought for me at Telasero... it was such a shame that they were wounded on my behalf. Of _course_ I went to visit them after they were healed. It's good for morale, you know. A smile, a kind word, a pat on the cheek..."

She glanced back at the other Ancient. "Do you remember when your stronghold fell, Assurjan? When your clan was betrayed, and your people were murdered?" She asked sweetly. "That was exactly three nights ago."

One of Assurjan's guards gasped out a prayer as he finally understood-- then the stronghold doors burst open, and scores of blood-maddened, desperate vampires poured out. The Hlaalu clustered around Dram cried out in dismay, turning to face their comrades who were lost in the hunger of newly turned vampires.

"Time to go!" Quarra called cheerily, and grabbed a fistful of Assurjan's robe, dragging him forward. "Come, Irarak." She waved her hand, the light of a spell beginning to sparkle around her.

" _Now_ ," Irarak hissed, shoving Raema forward. She stumbled, caught herself, and let loose the fire spell that she'd held ready. It roared across the open space, about the size of her fist-- the best she'd ever managed to produce, by far. As Destruction spells went, it was not very big, nor very strong; but it was enough to interrupt the Recall spell when it struck Quarra's shoulder.

The Ancient snarled, whirling to face her. Raema glimpsed Jole, grabbing hold of Assurjan, just as she dove for her sword. Turning the dive into a roll, she sprang to her feet and tossed aside the sheath. Quarra lunged at her, her own glass sword flashing. Their blades crashed together, as the charging new vampires slammed into the first line of the mortal Hlaalu.

All around them, the night was torn by screams of mortals and vampires; shadows swung wildly as the Hlaalu used their torches for clubs. Raema had no time to take more notice of the larger battle; Quarra was _fast,_ faster than Assurjan had been, in that duel below Telasero. The vampire pressed forward, and it was all Raema could do to keep her footing and defend herself. The glass sword crashed against her blade again and again, the force of each impact making her arms tremble. She just barely managed to turn the blows aside, moving by instinct, dimly aware that if she tried to _think_ about what she was doing, she'd be dead.

She moved backward, trying to draw the vampire toward the stairs. The more distance she could put between the two Ancients, the better. Quarra followed, slashing at her. Then Raema's heel struck an uneven patch, a stone loosened from the stronghold's masonry, and she stumbled back. Off balance, she couldn't block Quarra's sword as it swung for her head-- so she dropped, hit the ground hard, winced as the breath was knocked from her lungs.

The vampire lunged at her. Raema threw herself to the side, rolled and scrambled to her feet, just in time to flinch back from the glass sword's next swing.

"You're forgetting something, Raema," Volrina said, conversationally, as if the sword fight caused her no exertion.

Fighting to regain her own breath, Raema did not reply. Where was Assurjan? She dared not risk a glance towards him. If she could just draw Quarra a little farther away, maybe Assurjan could free himself and--

"Do you know what you're forgetting?" The other Ancient continued, in a maddeningly sweet voice. She darted forward, blade lashing out, even faster than before. Raema just barely managed to turn aside the blow; Quarra's follow-through drew a line of flaring pain across her upper arm. She staggered back, fighting to keep a grip on her weapon.

"Let me show you," Quarra said, and raised her free hand. Too late, Raema realized what was coming, too late to dodge a second paralysis spell. Once again, she froze, helpless and numb. As quickly as it had begun, the pain in her wounded arm disappeared. Quarra stepped closer, and gripped Raema's chin in one hand, just as she had done to Assurjan.

"A pity," she murmured. "I would have enjoyed making Assurjan watch me torture you, little Bosmer. I'll have to settle for making him watch you die."

She lifted Raema's chin, and raised her sword. Over the vampire's shoulder, past the chaos of the fight raging between them, Raema could see Assurjan. He stood motionless, with a sword held slack in his hands, watching her with a horrified look on his face.

Quarra's sword moved, at the bottom edge of Raema's vision, from one side to the other. _She's slitting my throat!_ Raema realized in a panic. Unable to move, unable to feel, she could only scream silently as Quarra's hands came away red with her blood. There was so much of it! _I'm going to die, I'm dying_ , she knew, as the vampire gave her a final smile, and turned away.

The scenes of battle on the rooftop swirled, dizzyingly. She could not see Assurjan any longer, nor Jole. The short-lived spell was already fading as Quarra strode back toward the fight. Raema's shirt felt wet, clinging to her chest. She managed to roll her eyes down and look; blood soaked her front, spilling from her throat in a steady pulse. She let out a sob as the last vestige of the paralysis spell faded away, letting in the agony. Then her legs collapsed, the ground rushed up, and darkness fell around her.

* * *

Jole blinked in surprise as Raema's fire spell crashed into Quarra's armor. He had never seen her manage anything that strong before. Furious, Quarra whirled around, letting Assurjan go as she darted toward Raema. Jole seized the Juraene Ancient's arm before he could go after them. _Bugger me if I leave tonight without one Ancient,_ he thought furiously.

Assurjan jerked free, lunged for one of the knives that were strapped to the hunter's belt. Jole caught his wrist, trapping the blade in the sheath, and clubbed the vampire's ear with his other fist. Assurjan let go the knife and came back with an elbow, catching Jole's cheekbone, followed by a kick that the hunter barely avoided. Staggering back, Jole drew his shortsword.

"Don't be foolish, Ancient," he shouted, over the din of snarling vampires and screaming Hlaalu. "You don't--"

He cut off as Assurjan launched himself forward, not towards Jole, but at the body of a fallen Hlaalu who lay on the ground. Jole cursed and kicked at the vampire. Assurjan rolled to the side, came up on one knee with the Hlaalu's sword in his chained hands, blocked Jole's downward swing. The vampire fought to his feet, each blow of the long claymore making Jole wince. The vampire had far too long a reach with that weapon, and he didn't know how long his own little blade would last against it. They traded more blows, circling about each other, until something caught Assurjan's eye.

He stopped in his tracks, and the sword dropped, tip clanking on the stones. The vampire stared across the stronghold as if Jole was no longer there, their fight forgotten.

Frowning, Jole risked a glance over his shoulder. Raema was standing frozen, paralyzed once again, with Quarra's sword at her throat. "Oh, no," Jole breathed. Across the distance, her dark eyes were wide and terrified. Still paralyzed, she did not flinch as Quarra drew the blade across her throat. Blood spilled out, dark and glistening wet in the torchlight, enough that Jole knew the wound was fatal. She would be dead in moments.

Quarra turned back toward them, leaving Raema standing helplessly behind her, blood pouring down her front. There was a clang; Assurjan's claymore fell to the ground. At the look on Assurjan's face, Quarra smiled, and began to stride towards him. Then a cluster of Hlaalu, back-to-back as they fought off three vampires, stumbled in front of the Ancient. Snarling, distracted, she hacked at them.

Jole cursed vehemently, stunned. Raema was gone, or would be in moments. There was nothing he could do for her; he'd slit enough throats himself to know. The one thing he could do was exact vengeance on Quarra, if he could reach the Ancient while she was distracted. He reached for another blade, baring his teeth.

Before he could break into a run, Assurjan caught his arm with both hands. "Release me, Devan," he demanded urgently. "I can save her!"

Jole shook him off. "You're no healer, Ancient!"

"Not with _these!_ " Assurjan snapped, holding up his shackled wrists. "There is no time, hunter. _Please_."

Jole glared at him, jaw clenched. The vampire stared back with stone-white eyes; they glinted with a wild, desperate look that Jole had never seen in the Ancient. Or in any Ancient, for that matter.

Unbidden, his wife's blood-streaked face rose up in his memory. Gods, what wouldn't he give to have had a chance to save her, all those years ago?

"For Raema," he grated, finally, and pulled the key from his pocket. "Save her, Assurjan, or I swear, you're next."

The vampire was fairly quivering as Jole unlocked the enchanted manacles. Before they hit the ground, Assurjan was gone, sprinting across the stronghold's rooftop. Jole watched the vampire go. He had never known Assurjan to have any ability at Restoration, but Vivec knew he had to do something, even if it meant letting the Ancient loose. He couldn't just let Raema bleed to death.

As Assurjan hurried to her side, Jole looked around at the chaos. Quarra's new vampires were winning, it seemed. Lost in the frenzied bloodlust of a first feeding, they outnumbered and overwhelmed the unturned Hlaalu. Bloody Oblivion, was that _Crassius_ tearing the throat out of a Breton woman with his fangs? Grimacing, Jole snatched up the manacles and headed for Volrina Quarra. He could still take out one Ancient tonight, if he was lucky.

She had already slain the three Hlaalu, and was just rising from the fallen corpse of another, when Jole barreled into her. They crashed to the ground, and Jole went for her sword arm, driving his knife at her wrist. He missed, and the blade snapped on the stones. She swung the sword at him; and he just managed to block with a forearm against hers. He was not wearing a bracer; at the impact of her glass armor against his arm, his broken knife dropped from nerveless fingers. Cursing, Jole fumbled for purchase on the stones, hoping to pin her with his weight. Quarra threw him aside, smashed one gauntleted fist into his jaw. Lights exploded behind his eyes. Desperately, he shook his head, fighting to regain some clarity, as the vampire leapt for him again.

* * *

The manacles fell, and magicka-- sweet, powerful, intoxicating-- was within his reach once more. Wordlessly, Assurjan took off toward Raema. She had collapsed at the center of a pool of blood on Hlormaren's paving stones. Someone darted in front of him, dared to try stopping him; vampire or mortal, Assurjan did not pause to determine which. Fire bloomed in his hands, the sweet force of Destruction that he had missed while in the Redguard's manacles. He left a charred corpse behind and went on without slowing.

"Ah, gods, Raema," he breathed, dropping to his knees at her side. He gathered her limp body into his arms. The wound across her throat gaped open terribly, still slowly pulsing blood; the scent of it filled his nostrils, called to his instincts despite everything. He forced the hunger back. _She's still alive_ , he thought, and looked up to find Quarra. She struggled with the Redguard, the two of them rolling across the stones and fighting like furious nix-hounds. Irarak was pelting towards him; whether to help Quarra or Raema, Assurjan could not tell. He had only seconds-- no time to plan, no time to prepare. No time to think about how to combine the spells, to choose the best method.

No time to think about what he would do if he failed. If Raema died.

He reached out with his magicka for Quarra. She screamed in fury as he began to drain her; the power slammed into him, filled his vision with sparkling, blinding light. He was a conduit only; the power crackled through his body like lightning, surging, searching for a place to go. Without knowing exactly what he did, he sent it into Raema, just as he had done with the slaves. He could not see, but he was _aware_ of the blinding force of Quarra's life, pouring into Raema. It roared in his head, drowning out all sound. So much strength, such power... too much for Raema, he realized. Like a dam breaking before a flooded river, she would not survive so much raging power. It was that excess that had killed the slave, he remembered distantly. But there was so much, pouring into him, rushing through him-- so much! He could not stop it. Desperately, blindly, on some metaphysical level, he pushed at the flood of Quarra's life, guiding it away from Raema and into the next nearest person, whoever was the closest vessel to catch the overflow of power.

 _Irarak,_ he realized, as the strength of Quarra's life swept through him and into the other vampire. The flow intensified, as if Irarak were drawing on it, pulling in more. Assurjan gritted his teeth, struggling to control the torrent that raged through him. It was a losing battle. Irarak was drawing more than Assurjan could control; whatever he'd done to change the flow's path before, it was beyond him now. He could only fight back a scream as the power burned through him, melted holes in his skull, shattered him into countless shards, again, and again, _and again_ \--

And with a crash of thunder, it was over. The source of the surging energy snapped shut, leaving him empty. The roaring in his head fell silent, and he had a moment of vertigo, unbalanced and lost in darkness. Slowly, slowly, he came back, blinked away the darkness. His eyes cleared, and he gazed down at Raema.

* * *

Jole swung wildly at the vampire above him, managed to clip her jaw. Quarra snarled, and savagely sank her fangs into his hand-- not feeding, just tearing at the flesh. Jole shouted, and gouged at her eyes with his other hand. She swatted it away, clamped her hand around his throat and squeezed. Jole drove his palm at the bend of her elbow, knocking her briefly off balance. He managed to hook his fingers under hers, pry them away from his throat. With a fierce grin, Quarra wrapped her other hand around his, crushing his fingers between her gauntlets, cutting off his air again. Panic began to set in as Jole's vision began to darken. He clawed frantically at her with his free hand, while the desperate pressure increased in his lungs, in his head.

Suddenly Quarra screamed, an unholy roar in the layered voice of a hungry vampire. She let him go abruptly, staggering to her feet. Coughing, Jole rolled away and came up in a crouch, staring at the vampire.

Quarra stumbled, still screaming, towards Assurjan, who knelt with Raema's limp form in his arms. The Hand's body was _glowing_ , Jole saw. Even as he realized it, it grew brighter, and then blinding. All around him, the fighting staggered to a halt as everyone, even the blood-maddened vampires, watched in awe.

Only a few paces from Assurjan, Irarak staggered. As Jole watched, the vampire began to glow like Raema, growing brighter and brighter until he eclipsed her, and everything else in sight. Jole had to look away, shielding his eyes. There was a roaring like the wind in an ash storm, and Irarak's voice joined Quarra's in a mighty scream that echoed through the night. Thunder cracked overhead, deafeningly loud, though there was no lightning, only the brilliant light that flared out from Irarak.

Abruptly, it was over. Whatever Assurjan had done, it had taken only moments; Jole was still gasping for breath as the blinding light faded away. Just steps away from him, Quarra crashed to the ground as a withered, brittle husk. Her glass armor clattered hollowly on the stones.

Irarak was standing motionless, staring at his hands. Swirls of ethereal light clouded his fingers: magicka that, judging by his expression, he didn't know what to do with. Slowly, the vampire raised his eyes, staring at Assurjan.

The Ancient, meanwhile, was rising to his feet, cradling Raema in his arms. As he stood, one of the vampires to Jole's left moved suddenly, leaping onto the nearest Hlaalu and sinking fangs into the man's neck. Shouts rang out as the battle erupted again. Wearily, Jole reached for his last blade, tucked in his boot.

" _HOLD!"_ Irarak bellowed, his voice ringing with sorcery. The shouts died out as every young vampire stopped moving at once. The first one who had moved was frozen, draped over the Hlaalu like a cloak, letting blood trickle down the man's neck as he glared toward Irarak. The Hlaalu fighters looked at each other, bewildered; Jole stared at Irarak, astonished.

_That's not possible... Assurjan, what have you done?_

The Juraene Ancient was gazing down at Raema, sparing no attention for anyone else on the rooftop. Raema's shirt was soaked in blood; some still dripped slowly from her dangling arm. But as Jole watched, she began to stir. _Praise Vivec_ , he thought, grinning, as she lifted her head. She gazed up at Assurjan, and her fingers went to her throat. Gingerly, she felt at the place where Quarra had wounded her, now whole and healed.

Then her hand closed around the amulet she wore, and she and Assurjan disappeared in a final flash of light.

 


	15. Chapter 15

Sundown was approaching. He could feel it, as always, a sixth sense that told him when it was safe, and warned him when the sunlight would sear him to dust. Assurjan sat cross-legged on Raema's cot, staring at his hands in the flickering candlelight. The events on Hlormaren's rooftop, just a few nights ago, were indistinct in his memory. He still was not sure he could explain what he had done, nor do it again. If he were fortunate, he wouldn't have to.

But it didn't matter. Raema was _alive_ , and they were free. No one knew of this cave, nestled in the foothills lining the West Gash. It was not a permanent home, but it was comfortable enough, and kept him sheltered from the sun and anyone who might be hunting for him.

And Raema was with him-- truly _with_ him, as she had not been in all those months after her cure of vampirism, when they both had been distant and cool with each other. Assurjan was not a religious man, but he found himself sending prayers of gratitude to every deity he could think of.

He had lost his clan, and that loss left an empty place inside him. They had been of his bloodline, and had come to vampirism through his own actions, whether directly or through another with his blood. They had been bound to him, looked to him for leadership, for protection from the other clans, from the mortals who-- often rightly-- feared and hated them. He had failed them all, and it was a weight he would bear for the rest of his undead life.

But he had saved Raema. It did not redeem him, he knew. It was his own fault that she had been put in such danger, over and over. But she lived, and the alternative to that did not bear thinking about. The one thing he did remember with clarity from that night at Hlormaren was the moment she had opened her eyes. She'd gazed up at him, dark eyes dazed but _alive_. He had never been so relieved to see anything else.

Smiling to himself, he got to his feet, and wound his way through the twisting cavern, sure-footed in the dark. In the deepest reaches of the cave, there was a small pool, fed by a spring that sent a continual trickle of water out to the cave's entrance. Here at the pool, Raema had set a few candles on the rocks, beside her towel. She stood waist-deep in the water, wringing out her dark hair.

When she caught sight of him, she grinned. "Will you join me, my lord?"

Assurjan sat at the water's edge to remove his boots, then set aside his robe. "You should not call me _my lord_ any longer, Raema," he said. Ignoring his trousers, he waded in. The water in this subterranean pool was pleasantly warm. "I have no clan to lead."

"You're still an Ancient," she said softly, coming closer. Candlelight made the water on her pale skin sparkle like diamonds. "You could--"

"No," he said firmly. "I will turn no more vampires. I want no more followers, no clan. Only you, Raema." He reached out to trace the pale line that adorned her neck, from one side to the other. It was the only remaining evidence of how close she had come to dying.

She moved closer still, dark eyes sparkling like the droplets on her skin. "Well," she said, running her fingers over the Ashlander tattoos that decorated his chest. "It'll be difficult for me to adjust, my lord. I'm not sure what I'll call you, now."

He felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You are a very competent Hand," he murmured. He drew her closer, one hand cupping her cheek. Beneath his fingertips, he could feel her pulse throbbing behind her jaw... strong, sweet, just as alive as she made him feel. "I trust you will think of something."

Raema's eyes were very wide and very dark as she smiled up at him. "I'll do my best... my love."

Warmth flooded through him, as if he were standing in the sunlight again, after so many decades. "That," he breathed, just before their lips met, "will do very nicely, my love."

* * *

Dram Bero's manor was just as Raema remembered it, except that beyond the dark, abandoned front rooms, it was not the Hlaalu councilor who waited for her. Irarak seemed both surprised and relieved to see her. A few other vampires were talking to him; Raema recognized them from the dungeon below Hlormaren. At Irarak's request, they left the room, and Irarak hurried to her side.

"Raema, thank you for coming. I wasn't sure I should expect you."

She clasped his hand in greeting. The vampire was incredibly powerful now, enough that she could sense his presence in her mind's eye, just as she could with Assurjan. "Irarak," she murmured. "You're looking well."

"Thanks to Assurjan," he said seriously. "I am not fool enough to think that he _intended_ to gift me with such power, not after what I did. But I am grateful, all the same. Please, tell that to him... since it seems that I won't have the opportunity to tell him myself."

"I'm sorry," Raema murmured. "He felt it best not to come. He... would prefer to distance himself from the Hlaalu."

Irarak gave her a wry smile. "So would I. But it seems I have no choice. Since Curio died in the fighting, Dram Bero has taken control of the House. He asked for my aid. There are thirty-seven Hlaalu vampires who survived Hlormaren, and he doesn't know what to do with them."

 _Thirty-seven... Bloody Oblivion,_ Raema thought grimly. _All those Hlaalu, turned without their even knowing it, just for doing their jobs._ "Can you still Command them?"

Irarak shook his head. "I'm not sure how I was able to do it at all. Perhaps Quarra's power over them was transferred to me along with everything else. In any case, they are no longer new enough for that. And they are Quarra's bloodline, not mine; but I promised Bero I would take care of them."

"It seems you've always been destined to lead vampires not of your making," Raema murmured.

Irarak gazed at her steadily, with a calm strength in his pale eyes that she had never seen in him before. "Someone must," he said. "They cannot be allowed to freely roam the island. I will be their Ancient, now that I have the strength I need to lead them, and keep them safe. And we will have allies in House Hlaalu, now that so many of the House are undead."

Raema gave him a sad smile. "Assurjan is an Ancient, and we allied with House Hlaalu, too. I hope you will have better luck than we did."

"Assurjan." Irarak gave her a steady look. "I know he cannot forgive my betrayal, but I hope he understands my reasons. He would have done the same in my place. Raema, I do not wish to be his rival. As he rebuilds Juraene clan--"

"No," Raema interrupted. "Juraene clan is gone, and we will not attempt to rebuild what we had."

Irarak noted the "we" in her words, she could tell. He nodded in understanding. "So what will you do? Where will you go?"

Raema had no idea where she and Assurjan would go, but Irarak did not need to know that. She said carefully, "Irarak, Assurjan is not your enemy... but he is not your friend, either."

The vampire sighed, and folded his hands at his waist. "I understand." Then he added, "It's Gulmon, now. Again. I've taken back my mortal name. Irarak of Clan Berne has done unforgivable things... and I refuse to be that man any longer. Gulmon of Clan Droth can do better-- _will_ do better."

Raema smiled; she couldn't help it. He was so like Assurjan, even to the determination to improve himself, and his vampires. "I wish you the best of luck," she said softly. "Goodbye, my lord Droth."

"Goodbye, Hand of the Ancient."

* * *

Despite the late hour, the Hlaalu Plaza in Vivec bustled with activity. High-ranking members came and went from Curio Manor, while others milled about in small groups, talking intently. The recent events at Hlormaren had indeed shaken the House. Raema threaded her way through the crowd, leaving behind Bero's manor and Vvardenfell's newest vampire Ancient. She was a bit worried that someone from Hlormaren would recognize her from the fight, but she was able to leave the Plaza without incident.

It was a cool, humid night; an earlier rainstorm had brought a refreshing breeze and left rainwater dripping onto the lower canton levels from above. Assurjan would be waiting for her... but she had one more stop to make.

As she rounded the corner of St. Delyn, she smiled at the sight of light spilling out from under Jole's door. The door opened before she had a chance to knock.

"Raema!" Jole exclaimed, delighted. He pulled her into an embrace. "This is perfect! I was afraid I wouldn't have a chance to say goodbye."

"Goodbye?" Raema repeated. Belatedly, she realized he was wearing a pack on his shoulders. Behind him, his tiny home seemed startlingly empty.

He held her at arms' length, eying the scar that crossed her throat. "I'm so glad to see you," he said, sincerely. "Come on, walk with me."

He shut the door, and she fell into step beside him. "Where are you headed this time? Not just a hunting trip, is it," she added, with a glance at the overstuffed pack he carried.

"No," he said. "There's too much... confusion... with the vampires here. Too many who have been turned too recently, through no fault of their own. Too many moral questions for me to sort through. It wouldn't feel right, hunting down all those Hlaalu vampires." He cast her a wry smile. "I'm headed someplace where the hunting will be simpler."

Raema was quiet for a long moment as they crossed the bridge to the Redoran canton. "You could help them," she suggested softly. "Cure them. You helped me."

"Well, you're a special case," Jole said, his grin gleaming in the darkness. She smiled, and they walked for a few more minutes in friendly silence, crossing back to the Hlaalu canton.

At the bridge to the mainland, with the lights of Ebonheart's port sparkling through the trees, Jole paused in the shadows. "Raema... Moral dilemmas aside, I swore an oath on my wife's name. Someday, that will lead me back to Vvardenfell, to finish what I've started. For your sake, I hope you are not here to see it."

Raema swallowed. "So do I, Jole. But I wouldn't worry about it." She smiled sadly. "Assurjan will outlast us both, I'm sure."

Jole hesitated, and his reply was not what she had expected. "How old do you think I am, Raema?"

"What?" She frowned. "Thirty years, maybe?"

He laughed softly, and laid a hand on her shoulder. "I was twenty-eight when I was turned, and I spent perhaps six years as a vampire. But I was cured eighty-three years ago."

Raema gaped at him, which only made him smile wider. "A side effect of spending some time undead, I believe. Just like vampires, aging doesn't seem to happen. There's no reason to believe you won't experience the same."

"That's... that's..." She couldn't find the words.

Jole's expression turned serious. "I meant what I told you. I don't deal well with moral questions about which vampires _deserve_ to die, or don't. I'm just a hunter. But maybe, someday, I'll come back, and find no one to hunt." He paused, spreading his hands with a rueful look. "I'll leave the _curing_ of vampires to a better man than I. Or woman."

His words touched on the shadow of an idea, a thought that Raema had hardly yet dared to consider. Curing vampires required the help of the gods, and aiding those on Vvardenfell would be a never-ending task...

But she knew exactly where she would _begin_.

Jole gave her a final grin, and a last, bone-creaking hug. "Be safe, my friend," he murmured, and strode away toward Ebonheart.

Still stunned, Raema watched him go, until she lost sight of him among the trees. She wasn't sure what to think about his revelation. It had always sat uncomfortably in her mind, the knowledge that her lifetime would be just a short blink compared to the Ancient's, but now... She felt herself smiling as she headed towards Assurjan. His presence glowed in her mind, a mental warmth that led her unerringly to where he waited among the trees to the north.

He stood up as she approached, dark robes nearly invisible in the night. Wordlessly, Raema embraced him, delighting in the fact that she could do it, that she could feel his arms around her. They stood in silence for a long moment.

"Ready to go?" He murmured, when she stepped back.

She smiled up at him. "Yes."

With a flicker of light, Assurjan's Levitation spell lifted him off the ground. He reached out to her.

Raema took his hand, and together they rose into the night.

 


End file.
